


In the Company of Players

by CrowleyLovesUSUK



Series: All the World's a Stage [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, F/M, First Love, High School, Humor, M/M, Romance, Teen Romance, Teenage Drama, The Aus/Hun is minor, Theatre, they don't even kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-31
Updated: 2016-04-16
Packaged: 2018-04-12 03:40:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 63,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4464062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrowleyLovesUSUK/pseuds/CrowleyLovesUSUK
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alfred F. Jones is best athlete at the World Academy. Arthur Kirkland is the star of the Drama Club. When Alfred runs into the predicament of needing more extra-curricular activities, he ends up stepping on some toes. When the handsome jock meets the reigning king of the stage, will sparks fly for romance, or result in bitter enmity? HS AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Start of Something New

**Author's Note:**

> AN: I have wanted to do a HS AU for so long because I have a secret guilty pleasure for them. And also I am a huge theatre nerd (BFA in acting baby!) Hopefully this isn't too cliche and overdone but we shall see. I am not writing ahead on this so I am up for suggestions. I do have an idea where the story is going though. USUK ALL THE WAY! The boys are 17, turning 18 in this so there may be some heavy smut later on.
> 
> Anya= Fem!Russia (Though, Ivan may or may not show up at some point)
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or anything else pop culture like in this story. Because if I did, then Al & Artie would go on super cute dates with Mattie & Gil and they would be so happy! 
> 
> All of the Chapter Titles are going to be songs from musicals--bonus internet hugs to those who figure them out. :)
> 
> I just own the story. I hope you enjoy.

**_Chapter One: The Start of Something New_ **

_"Sports and drama—they're like plaids and stripes. They. Don't. Mix."_

_-Zack (Chad Christ) "Jawbreaker"_

It was that time of year again. Juniors in every high school across America were beginning to prepare for college applications and the ensuing panic attached to such a time was no different at the World Academy. The prestigious private school prided itself on an incredibly high rate of graduates who attended Ivy League universities and the equivalent. Most students wished to feed directly into World Academy's own sister college, World University, as it was considered one of the best higher education facilities available.

Most students were not Alfred F. Jones.

For his part, Alfred knew that he was going to attend college, but he wasn't too interested in a particular field of study or the academic rankings of said university. He was concerned with the athletic rankings—particularly the basketball and football stats. Which was why, like most World Academy students, he had his sights set on World U. While the university boasted and impressive academic standing, it was also top notch in most athletics, including the ones closest to Alfred's heart.

Al knew that he was never going to play sports professionally, but if he was going to slog through classes in preparation for a job that he didn't really want, then he was definitely going to slog while playing his favorite sport at a top ranked school. Unfortunately for Alfred, while he was perfectly happy coasting through school with his "B" average, he was _not_ one of the juniors who was prepping for the ensuing college application flurry.

Which was why, four months later, at the beginning of his senior year, he found himself sitting across from his guidance counselor with a goofy grin on his face and absolutely no head start in the way of applying for a higher education.

"Mr. Jones," The guidance counselor, Tino Vainamoinen, known to the student body affectionately as 'Mr. T', sighed as he looked across the desk at the star athlete sitting before him. "It says here that you wish to attend World University after graduation?" His incredulous tone and forced smile did not register with the blonde teenager in front of him.

Alfred simply nodded his head with a grin and an enthusiastic "Yup!"

The two stared at one another for a full minute before Tino clasped his hands on his desk and leaned forward saying, "World U is very difficult to get into Alfred."

He received only a blank smile and a nod from the teenager. "Yeah, I know. Their basketball program is amazing!"

"Uh huh," the guidance counselor nodded, his voice betraying him. Tino was no stranger to talking students out of lofty goals or pushing them when they seemed to be giving up on their dreams too soon—but he wasn't used to the oblivious positivity that he was getting from Alfred Jones. Most students seemed to have some sort of grasp on what they were going to be able to achieve with their grades, finances and extra-curricular activities. Alfred Jones did not. The senior athlete, while very talented on the court, just didn't have the resume to be accepted at the school's sister college. It wasn't necessarily his grades. A solid B average was a bit below par for a university as prestigious as World University, however, they _did_ make exceptions for student athletes, as much as Mr. T disagreed with the practice. It was more that all Alfred did at school was show up for classes, do enough homework to get by, and play sports.

"Alfred," Tino pursed his lips and leveled with the young man in front of him. "You just don't have a well-rounded grouping of extra-curricular activities."

Confused, the young blond tilted his head and scrunched up his nose. "What do you mean? I'm a starter on the basketball, football _and_ baseball team. I'm the highest ranking member on the golf team. The only sport I _don't_ play is soccer."

" _Futbol_ ," the guidance counselor muttered. Raising his voice, he stated, "Yes, you are Alfred. But I'm afraid that your school activities are limited to sports and sports alone. World U prides itself on a diverse student group and they encourage their students to have many interests."

"I _do_ have interests," Alfred insisted. "I like sports. Like, _all_ sports—except soccer."

"I mean, that it would help if you had _other_ things to list on an application," Tino stated, his voice gentle but firm. "Your grades could be better, but I'm confident that the school _may_ overlook them if you had a better-rounded listing of clubs and groups that you participated in while you studied here."

"So," Alfred spoke slowly, "You want me to join some more teams?" He huffed and pushed his glasses up onto his nose. "I _guess_ I could play soccer if I really had to."

"No Alfred," Tino sighed. Even after three years with Alfred, Tino was still sometimes surprised at how oblivious the poor senior could be. "Not _teams_. I think you need to join some of the other student groups around here—at least one. It would really help you with your applications, not just to World U, but to any other schools that you may wish to try applying for."

The blonde teenager nodded, a serious expression crossing his usually smiling features. "Like what?"

"Well," the guidance counselor pulled out a folder from his desk and opened it to a list of school activities. Alfred leaned closer over the desk, to see what groups had been listed as Mr. V began to point at different clubs on the paper. "Unfortunately Alfred, most of the clubs and groups have already held elections for positions of prominence that would really stand out on an application. Can you play a musical instrument?"

"Huh?" Alfred cocked his head, an errant tuft of hair flapping against his skull.

"Nevermind," Tino crossed off 'Marching Band' from the list. "What about cooking? The Home Ec classes have an after school group that meets and tries food from all over the world. I think Francis is in charge, you two are friends, yes?"

"Um, yeah," Alfred said slowly. "We are, but—he told me about that club. He says they eat like, snails and fried bugs and gross shit—I mean _stuff_ —like that."

Tino slowly nodded, "The point of the Gastronauts is to try food from other cultures."

"No thanks," Alfred shook his head quickly. "I'd prefer to stick to really good food, like hamburgers, Mr. T."

"Okay," he tried to smile at the teenager. Scanning the dwindling list, Tino made a thoughtful sound as he read one of the clubs printed near the bottom of the page. "How do you feel about Drama Club?"

"Drama Club?" the blonde athlete looked skeptical.

"Yes," the guidance counselor nodded encouragingly. "It's one of the only school groups that hasn't held elections or tryouts yet. Auditions for the school musical are in a few days and the four leads are automatically given the responsibility of club officers for the remainder of the year." Tino tried to sound upbeat and make the Drama Club look as appealing as possible. After all, his job was to help students get into the college of their choice, but he could only do so much. "I know it really isn't your _scene_ Alfred," he stumbled over his words in an attempt at teenage slang. "But the Drama Club is very highly respected here at World Academy and from what I have gathered talking with the students involved in school productions, it's an awful lot of fun."

In fact, Tino Vainamoinen knew _exactly_ how much fun the Drama Club had. Shockingly enough, the drama students were the ones he had in his office most often—for everything from underage drinking in the choir room to being caught making out in the parking lot. The theatre kids were always the troublemakers—but he supposed that you were only young once—and Tino knew that sometimes it was a good thing to break the rules.

"Drama Club?" Alfred still seemed hesitant.

"Yes," he pressed. "Drama Club." Glancing up at the clock over his door, Tino handed the list of school activities to the tall senior and said, "Give it a thought Alfred. If you _really_ do want to attend World U next year, you _need_ another club under your belt. Just…think about it."

The blonde teen stood up, starting down at the list. "Okay, I'll think about it," he said quietly. "What show are they doing this year anyway?"

Tino smiled, "'Grease.' It's a classic musical."

"A musical?" Alfred looked skeptical as he stood. "Like, singing for no reason?"

"Yes, a musical has singing," the guidance counselor laughed. "John Travolta was the lead in the movie version."

Alfred instantly brightened. "John Travolta is cool! He was in 'The Punisher!'" The teen smiled and began babbling on about the violent superhero movie. "I'm more of a Captain America or Batman kinda guy, but Frank Castle is _way_ cool too! I mean, he kills a lot of people in that movie, but I get why he does it; I mean, John Travolta had his whole family killed—even that guy from 'Jaws.' I guess that's cause John Travolta was the bad guy—is he the bad guy in 'Grease?'"

"Why don't you go rent it this weekend—I think we have a copy here in the library," Tino flicked his hands in a gesture to shoo the young man out of his office before the bell rang for the next period.

"Okay," the teenager smiled as he left. "Thanks Mr. T—you rock!" The strong teen pulled the door closed as he left, causing it to slam loudly.

Tino just shook his head. He knew that he was right—Alfred really _did_ need more activities for World U to overlook his grades. If only the blonde boy wanted to go to a less prestigious school, his GPA was perfectly acceptable for another university. He just hoped that the Drama Club was ready for the likes of Alfred F. Jones.

* * *

The giggles were the first thing to alert Arthur Kirkland that he wasn't alone. The handsome blonde allowed himself a grimace into the depths of his locker before he plastered on a semblance of a smile and turned. Giggling girls were something that he was not going to miss after graduation. He doubted that college women were so insipid as to giggle constantly. Most of the young ladies at World Academy didn't even seem to speak—they just communicated through simpers and other annoying forms of laughter. Usually Arthur could ignore it, since he was not in the business of trying to find a girlfriend—being gay had its advantages. But he was cursed with bright green eyes, tousled blonde hair, a fashionably slim figure, and an English accent, so the ladies tended to come a-running, despite the fact that he was quite open about his sexuality.

Strangely enough, Natalia and Elizabeta were leaning against the lockers to his right smiling at him. At least, Elizabeta was smiling. Natalia was sort of glaring, although, he was pretty sure that was her version of a 'sultry' look. Usually they didn't giggle; wasn't their style. Maybe they had taken a few shots from the flask Natalia usually kept in her bag. That would explain the twittering noises coming from the usually mature girls.

At least it was other members of the Drama Club, and not random girls. Arthur didn't really enjoy associating with outsiders. The Drama Club tended to stick together, like some sort of weird, toxic family. They all hung out together, took the same classes, dated each other, and swapped partners within their group of theatre nerds without so much as batting an eye. And he, Natalia and Elizabeta ruled their little theatrical kingdom. The trio were very close despite their differences and they managed to land every lead role since they had started at the academy. They were like the sisters that Arthur never had—talented young ladies who he actually enjoyed spending time with—unlike his actual siblings.

"Ladies," Arthur's British accent never failed to make the girls of World Academy swoon and today was no exception.

"Kirkland," Natalia looked at him from under her lashes.

"Arthur," Elizabeta smiled at him and placed her hand on his forearm. Glancing down uncomfortably at the contact, Arthur stared at her hand until she got the hint and removed it. Unfazed by the awkwardness of the situation, Elizabeta tilted her head to the side flirtatiously and asked, "Ready for auditions?"

"I'm always ready," Arthur smirked and slammed his locker door shut. He was the best male performer in the entire group—which meant the entire school—and the best was _always_ prepared for an audition. Spinning the combination lock before he started down the hall, he could hear the two girl's footsteps trailing after him.

"I'm so excited that we are going to do 'Grease' this year," Elizabeta hummed. "Last year was _such_ a disaster with 'Peter Pan.'"

"Don't be ridiculous," Arthur said. "You were a wonderful Wendy." Elizabeta beamed, and Arthur, remembering just in time, turned to Natalia and said, "And _you_ were a magnificent Peter. It's always a privilege to work with someone familiar with stage combat."

Natalia smirked at him, "I enjoyed fighting you Captain. You were a decent pirate."

"I was an excellent pirate," Arthur raised one of his large eyebrows.

"You were perfect," Elizabeta nodded. "I was referring more to the faulty wiring that caused Natalia to take out half of the Darling's Nursery set on Opening Night."

"Well, that was sabotage and we all know it," Arthur huffed angrily.

They could never prove it, but the entirety of the Drama Club was convinced that the basketball team had tampered with their flying harnesses. A dangerous prank that could have ended up much worse than it did. And all because 'Peter Pan's' Opening Night was scheduled for the same day as one of their stupid tournaments. The basketball team had been furious when they were forced to change their championship tourney to another day simply because the academy insisted that they could not accommodate enough parking for both events and the musical had been booked first.

The Drama Club had yet to forgive. Especially Natalia, since she was the one who ended up in the emergency room with a broken wrist—and Natalia wasn't anyone to mess with. She insisted that she was biding her time and that revenge was best served cold. Even the basketball coach, Mr. Vargas and the drama teacher, Mr. Carriedo were still not on speaking terms because of the whole debacle.

"I still have a few things to hammer out before auditions," Natalia offered. "Not that I'm worried." She smirked at them both.

"Doubt it," Arthur stated. "No one could touch you as Rizzo."

"Who said I was going for Rizzo?" Natalia said casually. "I think that I would make an excellent Sandy."

Both Arthur and Elizabeta stared at the slender, blue-eyed girl before them. It took them both almost a full minute of blinking their shocked faces at her before she laughed and waved her hand saying, "Seriously?"

"Seriously," Elizabeta breathed. "I thought you _were_ serious for a moment there—we would have had a problem." She shook her head and smiled.

Natalia laughed dryly and said, "What, you were gonna start a rumble?"

Elizabeta stepped toward the other girl. "Maybe."

"Ladies," Arthur's voice held a slight warning. He knew they were friends, but a part was a part and all was fair when it came to casting. "You both know which roles you are suited to; let's not be unpleasant."

The girls took a split second to stare at one another and silently communicate their thoughts before they both giggled again, causing Arthur to roll his eyes.

"Of course, I am going to be Rizzo," Natalia dropped her lashes. "And you, _Liz_ , will be a fabulous Sandy."

"Thank you," Elizabeta's voice was polite, but clipped.

"You've got the hymen for it," Natalia muttered under her breath.

Elizabeta swirled, furiously, her eyes cutting as she opened her mouth and stepped toward her friend.

Sliding his arms around both girl's shoulders, Arthur smiled and said, "Ladies." He knew that they were both fighting for show. Neither girl was really all that angry; they just enjoyed riling each other up before auditions. Natalia said it made them both more formidable to the other girls in the drama club; the girls who were always cast in the chorus. "What were you planning on singing, darling?" Arthur asked Elizabeta.

She took a beat to glare daggers at Natalia who simply smiled and raised one eyebrow in a challenge before she said, "The Music Man. 'Goodnight, My Someone.'"

"Excellent choice love," Arthur soothed, patting both girl's shoulders.

"Yes," Elizabeta snapped, still staring at Natalia. "I know."

"Well," Arthur drew the word out and stepped back to stare both girls down. "I think that we are going to have the best production of 'Grease' since Olivia and Travolta with the three of us in the main roles."

"You'll be such a sexy Danny," Elizabeta murmured.

"Yes," Natalia glanced at him. "No one could pull it off, except you."

Arthur smirked, "Yes I know." The trio shared a laugh and stopped at the hallway junction where they would have to separate.

"I want to run over my song once more before tomorrow," Elizabeta said thoughtfully. All three of them were well aware that 'once more' meant about three hours of intense singing.

"Me as well," Arthur glanced at the attractive girl. "I was planning to ask Roderich to accompany me in one of the rehearsal rooms this afternoon. Just to polish out the details, you know."

Elizabeta grinned. "Nat and I were going to do the same."

"You can never be too prepared," Natalia said as she glanced down the hall to where her older sister Anya was holding court with a few of the basketball players. The statuesque blonde never failed to turn heads. Even Arthur, despite his homosexuality, couldn't help but admire how aesthetically pleasing Anya Braginski looked.

"We should find out when Roderich is available," Arthur tore his eyes away from Anya and the group of basketball players. It was harder than he imagined. Alfred was in that group, lingering just towards the back next to his strange albino friend, Gilbert. Arthur had been carrying quite the torch for the blonde American, despite knowing that nothing would ever happen. The English boy huffed out a breath and forced himself to turn back to his two friends.

Elizabeta waved her hand in a non-committal gesture. "Roderich will be available whenever I ask him to be available."

Shaking his head, Arthur stared her down. "You know he's in love with you, yes?"

"What?" Elizabeta's eyes went wide and she shook her head in surprise. "No," she insisted. "He's just very friendly."

Next to her, Natalia had stopped watching her sister and snorted. "Right," she grunted. "Friendly. That stuck-up musician may as well be one of the jocks. He's about as friendly to the rest of us as a mongoose is to a cobra."

"And you're the cobra," Arthur smiled at Natalia.

Her grin held an edge. "Of course."

Realizing the bell for next period was about to ring, Natalia pulled Elizabeta down the hall toward their shared class, even as Elizabeta kept insisting that Roderich was just a really nice guy and was not attracted to her.

Arthur shook his head in amusement. Natalia was right. Roderich _could_ be one of the sports superstars based on his attitude toward them; not that the meatheads would give Roderich the time of day either. Arthur knew that the incredibly talented pianist only put up with them because of his massive crush on Elizabeta. No matter, it came in handy. One should never underestimate the power of a skilled piano player who knew your quirks and could effectively cover if you fucked up during a song. The stuffy Austrian trained with them all enough that he could fudge even the most offensive of musical gaffs.

Unable to resist another glance at Anya and the crowd of basketball players around her, Arthur allowed himself a moment to bask in the beauty that was Alfred F. Jones. He had dated his fair share of guys at the academy but he always hoped that one day he would get a crack at Jones.

They were almost complete opposites. Alfred was popular, well-liked, and a jock. Arthur was grumpy, ignored and a member of drama club. It was a shame. Sports and drama were two completely different social circles. They were about as likely to be friends—or lovers—as two male lions in the same territory. The thought actually broke Arthur's heart.

Allowing himself one final glance, Arthur was about to turn to head towards his AP History class when Alfred himself, lifted his head and looked directly at him. Their eyes locked. Arthur felt himself suck in a breath as Alfred gazed at him—and winked. Clenching his teeth and narrowing his eyes, Arthur spun on his heel to head toward his class. There was no conceivable way that Alfred. F—for fucking gorgeous—Jones was _winking_ at him.

Absolutely no way.

* * *

Alfred couldn't help himself. Standing with his friends who were, for the most part, ogling Anya, he used the opportunity to discreetly watch Arthur Kirkland saunter down the hall. Flanked by two of the theatre girls, Arthur's cocky smirk never failed to draw Alfred's gaze. He had spent plenty of personal time in the shower thinking about the English boy—and it was always a good way to pass the time, as far as Alfred was concerned. Arthur Kirkland was his absolute ideal. Although, Alfred knew that the chances of him ever getting the chance to see what the sexy blonde was hiding underneath his school uniform was slim to none—nothing would quell the obvious attraction he felt for the other boy.

It was kind of funny actually. The two of them hung out with completely different groups and had almost no friends in common, save Francis, who didn't really count since he was friends with everyone—and half the faculty. Alfred would have a better chance of becoming a fighter pilot with his astigmatism than ever hooking up with the glorious Arthur Kirkland. That fact wasn't going to stop him from dreaming about it though.

So when Arthur had glanced up and caught him blatantly ogling, Alfred did the only thing he could think to cover his embarrassment—make Arthur even more uncomfortable than himself. So he grinned and winked; and while his heart was fluttering and he was doing everything in his power not to betray how awkward he felt, the dark blush that rose on the English boy's cheeks was more than enough compensation for the athlete's pride.

As he watched Arthur stomp away, Alfred allowed himself to think that perhaps his infatuation wasn't one-sided after all. He knew that Arthur was gay, so he had that covered—and while Alfred wasn't as out and proud as some of the student body, he would always admit to his bisexuality when questioned. Lots of his friends wondered privately why Alfred had been single all through school, but no one really noticed that while the golden blonde athlete had plenty of girls fawning on him, he did tend to prefer men—and those were harder to come by. Especially when the object of Alfred's deepest desires was a boy he hardly knew and couldn't exactly just walk up to and start a conversation with at any moment.

"Jones. Al Jones. Alfred Fucking Jones."

Alfred turned sharply when he heard his friend Gilbert say his name. "Yeah?"

"How did it go with Mr. T," Gilbert's harsh German accent contained something of a smirk.

Shrugging, Alfred toed at the tile of the hallway and mumbled, "I have to do more extra-curriculars in order to get into World University next year.

Gilbert simply stared at his friend. "So? Like that's hard, go sign up for something."

"It's not that easy," Alfred countered. "I have to have a position in the club I sign up for and at this point, according to Mr. T, the pickings are a bit slim."

"How slim?"

"Drama Club slim."

There was a beat before the German boy burst out laughing and clapped his hand on Alfred's broad shoulders. "Please shut up," Alfred whined slightly.

"Sorry," Gilbert chuckled. "I just…that's just…holy shit Al," Gilbert doubled over in a fit of giggles once more. When he finally straightened, he fixed Alfred with his piercing red eyes and managed, "That's just fucking funny."

"I gathered that from your uncontrollable laughter Gil."

"I mean," Gilbert grinned, "Can you see yourself onstage with all those weirdos in the Drama Club? Prancing around wearing eyeliner and singing songs?"

"Hey," Alfred protested. "My brother is in Drama."

"Who?" Gil tilted his head in confusion for a moment. "Oh wait," the German boy nodded. "Yeah, that's right, you do have a brother. Quiet, longer hair, looks like your twin…usually hides when I come over?"

"That's him. Matthew."

"Mattie, yeah," Gilbert trailed off in thought for a moment.

Alfred used his friend's uncommon silence to think about his options for a moment. "Gil," he began. "Do you really think I should do it?"

"What? Drama Club?" the albino glanced over at his friend.

"Yeah. I mean, it's not really my scene, ya know."

"No shit," Gil snorted. "Well," he continued. "You said Mr. T told you that you need an extra-curricular…so I guess that means you have to do it. I mean, dude," Gilbert stared him down. "If you're not at World U with me next year on the team, it's going to royally suck. You gotta be there with me so that we can be the most awesome basketball duo that school has ever seen!"

"Jordan and Rodman," Al nodded with a grin.

"Exactly!" the albino boy crowed. "So I say go for it. Who knows, maybe you'll get a chance to finally talk to your lover boy."

"What!?" Alfred squawked.

Gilbert smirked. "Please, like I didn't see you winking at Kirkland a few minutes ago."

"I did not!"

"Sure kid," Gilbert laughed. "You were staring right at him."

"No," Alfred could feel his face heating up with red. "I was just, you know, looking at Anya." The American boy spouted the first lie that popped into his head.

"Right," Gilbert nodded. "And who was standing behind the pretty Russian ice queen? You're not fooling anyone bro. I guess you forgot about our little drinking game this summer…you know," the German prompted. "The one where you told me that you're totally—"

"Shut up!" Alfred's voice was embarrassingly high. "I remember okay dude. Jeez, you don't have to shout it out for the whole school!"

"No one will care Al," Gilbert said. "Half the student body are homos. That's the beauty of _international_ schooling. Us Europeans aren't all uptight and douchey as you Americans about experimenting a bit with another dude's tight little—"

Alfred cut off his friend with an undignified screech. "Stop dude. Just stop."

"Whatever," Gilbert shrugged. "Just trying to help you release your inner gay."

"It's released," Alfred insisted. "I like boys, I like girls; everyone knows. I released it."

"All I'm saying is that you should release it on that cute Brit before someone else does," Gilbert's tone was ominous and serious for once. Alfred made a low sound in the back of his throat. "Join the damn Drama Club dude," Gilbert stated with a firm tone. "You'll get into World U, we can dominate the basketball team there, and maybe you'll get some ass. Literally."

"You're fucking crass dude," Alfred shook his head. He glanced down the hall in the direction that Arthur had scurried. The bell rang, signaling classes were beginning. The group of jocks and the object of their attention, Anya, all moved to head to their next period. Alfred hefted his backpack over one shoulder and headed toward his English class. English. Arthur was English.

Shaking his head, Alfred internally groaned; he couldn't even go to school without some reminder of the intense infatuation he had with Arthur Kirkland. Gil was right. He needed to get this out of his system. And Mr. T had given him the perfect opportunity to obtain everything that he wanted. Alfred's guidance counselor was the best!

* * *

The last two periods of the school day were normally reserved for Arthur's study hall, but the young man was intent on getting a scholarship and in Year Ten, he had decided to pad his college applications with a little volunteer work. For the past three years he had used his study halls to act as the student aide in the campus library. He enjoyed the work; it was calm and somewhat tedious, but it allowed for a certain amount of daydreaming which was good for any actor in which to plot out different ways of approaching a character. It was also excellent for quiet reflection when the library wasn't too busy so that Arthur could possibly work on a monologue or simply allow his mind to go blank.

But most of all, Arthur enjoyed being surrounded by books—literature was like a drug to the blonde Englishman. He devoured everything he could get his hands on. Not simply the classics, as most people would suspect of him—he loved all of those of course—but he was also eager for each new popular series, and felt no shame in the voracious reading of what some intellectuals may have referred to as 'frivolous reading.' If he liked a book, he was damn well going to read it and be proud. Except that sparkly vampire one; fuck that book.

Arthur shuddered as he slowly pushed the rickety cart containing all the returned books around the stacks, placing them tenderly back where they belonged. His mind wandered to the upcoming auditions and he smirked a bit as he slid a large volume of Dostoevsky back in its rightful place. He was going to _dominate_ those auditions. He always enjoyed seeing the looks of the Freshers when he got up to perform his audition pieces. It was if they _knew_ there was no way they could top it. It tended to intimidate, so Arthur liked to go closer to the beginning of the lineup in order to psych out the competition.

There was no doubt in his mind that the role of Danny Zuko would be his. After all, there was no one standing in his way.

* * *

It was finally the end of the day for Alfred, and he was exhausted. Technically he still had study hall, his last class of the day, but he usually skipped out to hit the gym before practice. Unfortunately, his mind had been running so frantically at what Mr. T had said to him that morning and he really just wanted to go home, eat dinner and then go to bed. He didn't know that thinking so hard about such an important topic would be so draining. _'This,'_ thought Alfred, _'This is why it is easier to just coast. All fun, no stress, less napping.'_

It didn't help that all of the thoughts for his future were interrupted by big green eyes and a snotty English accent. Arthur Kirkland was going to be the death of him. Alfred was already bordering on obsessed with the handsome actor, but the actual thought of possibly being in close proximity to his crush had the athlete's feelings all jumbled up.

As he walked down the hall toward his locker, Alfred pulled his phone out of his back pocket and pulled up his Netflix app. He quickly typed in the title 'Grease' and when the movie popped up as being available on the video streaming device he groaned out loud. _'Shit.'_ The blonde athlete had been hoping that it wasn't on Netflix so that he would actually have an excuse to go to the school library and borrow it from the inadequate DVD collection housed there. Going to the library meant that he would get to see Arthur. And any excuse to see Arthur was something worth doing.

Alfred powered down the Netflix app and slid his phone back into his pocket. He would just go rent it from the library anyway; and if Mattie asked, then he would just tell his brother that his Netflix was acting sketchy and he didn't want to risk it since he _had_ to see this movie tonight. Perfect. Totally innocent. Mattie wouldn't buy it, of course, but honestly, Alfred really didn't care. Whistling as he made his way down the hall, Alfred began sauntering in the direction of the school library.

* * *

The first thing Arthur heard was the piercing, high pitched whistling that announced an unwanted guest in the library. He popped out from behind one of the stacks where he had been restocking the returned books and glared at the perpetrator. Jones. Of course it was fucking Jones.

"What do you want?" Arthur shouted across the empty library. The whistling stopped immediately as the owner swiveled his head to find the source of the angry, accented voice. Alfred's eyes finally stopped on Arthur, peeking around a shelf and glaring at him.

Pushing his thin, wire-frame glassed up his nose, Alfred grinned. "Lookin' for a movie."

Arthur grunted. "Of course you are." He emerged from the stacks and made his way slowly towards the front of the library where Alfred was now leaning against his desk in a casual fashion. "What movie Jones?"

"Alfred."

"What?" Arthur shook his head in confusion.

"Call me Alfred," the handsome jock said. "All my friends do."

"We aren't friends," Arthur grumbled. "Follow me." The perpetually grumpy Brit shuffled towards the opposite side of the library where the meager stack of videos were housed. Once reaching the shelf, he swiveled quickly and was surprised to find Alfred only a few inches away from him. Slowly Arthur lifted his gaze and locked eyes with the tall athlete. Blue met green. For a few beats both boys simply stared at one another's eyes until Arthur managed to blink and spit out, "What movie again, Jones?"

Alfred couldn't seem to find his voice. He made a few sputtering sounds before croaking out, "Grease," and was humiliated when his voice hitched up on the word. Jesus, this was like being in middle school again; how fucking embarrassing.

Sucking in a breath, Arthur snapped, "Why?" His voice was laced with suspicion.

Alfred wracked his brain, trying to come up with a plausible excuse and utterly failed. "Mattie wanted to watch it this weekend, so he asked me to pick it up." His voice ended on the lilt of a question, which gave away his lie to the sharp Englishman.

"Matthew?"

Alfred nodded.

"Matthew wants to watch 'Grease,'" Arthur deadpanned.

Again, Alfred bobbed his head and cleared his throat saying, "He's studying light cues. You know…for the show." Alfred prayed to anyone listening that the cute Brit would buy his lie—after all, it was entirely plausible since Mattie was designing the lighting and sound for the show.

Arthur cocked an impressively large eyebrow in suspicion, but he turned away and began to gaze at the shelves, looking for the DVD. Alfred let out an almost silent breath, relieved that his lie was seemingly bought.

"Here," Arthur shoved the DVD that he had recently found toward Alfred, his arm outstretched, trying to put distance between them. Immediately, the shorter blonde turned and stalked back to the librarian's desk and began typing into the computer. He scanned the movie and handed it back to Alfred stating that it would be due back in a week.

"Heh," Alfred let out a nervous laugh as he took the film and kept staring into those green eyes. He didn't know why he was still standing there. "Thanks Artie," he finally managed.

"It's Arthur," the green-eyed boy scowled. After a beat he glared even more fiercely and practically shouted, "Good day, Jones!"

Alfred nodded and turned to leave the library. Once the doors were closed and both boys were left on their own once more, each breathed out a huge sigh of relief and tension. That was the most that they had interacted in years; and the effect was obvious to each of them. They both just hoped that the other hadn't noticed how awkward they had behaved. Luckily, or unluckily for the Englishman and the American—in the case of love, they were both a bit oblivious.

* * *

Matthew Williams, Alfred's incredibly quiet and shy, younger half-brother came home that afternoon to a sight that would haunt him for the rest of his days. Alfred was lounging on the sectional couch in their basement rec room, karaoke machine hooked up and was singing along with the movie 'Grease' playing on their big screen TV. Laying on his back, legs kicking in the air, Al was belting out 'Greased Lighting' with incredible energy and a surprisingly good voice.

Lurking at the foot of the stairs for a few moments, Matthew watched his brother and silently chuckled to himself. _'What in the world is Al doing?'_ the younger boy thought. Clearing his throat softly, he stepped forward so that Alfred could see that he wasn't alone. The sound and movement were enough that Alfred jumped off of the couch, scrambling for the remote to turn off the film, his face reddening as he tried to stammer out a, "This isn't what it looks like." Unfortunately he hadn't unhooked the karaoke mic and ended up shouting his protest into it causing a loud, harsh echo and the squeal of feedback.

Matthew plugged his ears and grimaced as he spoke with a playful lilt in his voice, "Looks like you're geeking out over 'Grease.'"

Al's eyes were wide and the red hue of his cheeks just kept deepening the longer that his brother scrutinized him. "No," Alfred protested, drawing the word out into three syllables. "I'm just, you know…watching a movie."

"A movie based on the musical we happen to be performing at school this year?" Matthew quirked an eyebrow. "A show that will most certainly be starring a certain blonde, English boy who has the initials of A.K.? As in Arthur Kirkland? You're precious little Artie, who—"

The younger boy's playful teasing was cut off as the blush on Al's face became more pronounced and he shouted, "This has _nothing_ to do with Arthur!" The protest wasn't taken quite seriously when the older boy kept looking at his feet and mumbling about green eyes.

"Yeah," huffed Matthew, "I'm pretty sure that about ninety percent of your life revolves around Arthur, which is creepy since you hardly know each other."

Matthew knew full well that Alfred dutifully attended all of the school's theatrical performances on Opening Night with their parents; and it wasn't for the extra credit grade offered by the English and Drama classes. The members of the Jones-Williams family would come to support Matthew, despite their younger son never actually being a performer. Their parents knew Mattie's passion lay behind the scenes, designing and hopefully one day directing. And they wanted their youngest to feel supported—plus the World Academy productions were top quality due to alumni funding; some of whom boasted their own Oscars and Tony Awards.

Although Matthew knew that Al did deeply support him, he was also aware that his older, sports-loving brother usually attended each show a minimum of five times just to watch Arthur Kirkland without being totally creepy. Poor Al failed miserably at that. Paying night after night to watch a crush from afar without said crush's knowledge seemed a tad disturbing to Matthew.

Knowing full well that his brother caved under pressure, Matthew simply stared serenely at him until Alfred cracked. Mumbling his way through the explanation about joining extra-curricular activities, Matthew listened intently to Alfred ramble on, finally ending his 'tale of woe' with a huge and heartfelt sigh.

"So," Alfred said, looking at his brother expectantly. "You see—nothing to do with Arthur—at all." Matthew nodded absently before Al continued. "I just gotta see what this show is about so I can audition next week."

That statement startled Matthew out of the shock of his brother actually auditioning for Drama Club. "Next week?" the normally quiet brother practically shouted. "Al! The auditions are tomorrow afternoon!"


	2. I Hope I Get It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: There will be a bit of smut in this chapter; mentions of masturbation; and obviously language. Also, I may have forgotten to mention that my second OTP after USUK is PruCan so there is PruCan in this story as well. I haven't decided if they're going to hook up in this fic or if I want to do their story in a sequel…I guess it depends on if this story gets good feedback.  
> First Chapter Title was from High School Musical. Anyone know this one?

**Chapter Two: I Hope I Get It**

_"Auditions are not a natural environment, and you feel judged, even though everyone is just excited to find the right person."_

_-Tatiana Maslany_

Alfred woke groggily the next morning feeling a bit like he had a hangover, and he did of sorts; a musical hangover. He had slept fitfully all night having the obligatory 'naked in front of everyone at school' dream, only this time he was dancing and singing as well. Horrible. Matthew's news the previous evening about auditions had completely shaken him to the core.

_"But Mattie," Alfred had whined. "Mr. T said the auditions were next week!"_

_"Mr. T was wrong," Matthew stated with certainty. His voice was calm but his eyes were wide and gave away a lot of the younger brother's emotions and thoughts. This was bad. "Mr. Carriedo moved up the auditions to allow for an extra week of rehearsals."_

_"Why?" Alfred had questioned. "That seems weird, right?"_

_Shaking his head firmly, Matthew looked his brother dead in the eye and said, "Normally yes. But due to the size of the cast, Mr. Carriedo wanted to have the extra week since he is assuming that a lot of chorus members will be freshman or people new to the department."_

_Al had stared in wide-eyed horror for a full minute before lunging at his brother and grasping Matthew's arms tightly. "You gotta help me Mattie!" the jock wailed pathetically. "I have to get cast dude! If I'm not an officer of the club I join, apparently it 'doesn't count' or some stupid shit like that."_

_"Al," Matthew blinked. "You have to be good—really good—to get a lead here. We have a reputation at World Academy for drama." Matthew glanced at his brother helplessly. "I mean, I've heard you sing in the shower and you're good…but…" the quieter brother trailed off before meeting Alfred's eyes with an unusual intensity. "Can you dance? Are you Arthur Kirkland good? And what exactly did you tell him when you rented the movie in the first place? He must have suspected something?"_

_"I am good Mattie," Alfred insisted. "And I can dance!" Matthew scoffed and then pretended to cough to cover the rudeness. "And you don't have to worry your little head about stuffy Arthur Kirkland. He didn't suspect a thing." Alfred's voice gave off some of his usual cues of confidence. "I told him I was getting it for you so you could study light cues."_

_"What?" Matt said incredulously. "You don't watch movies for light cues Al! That either made Arthur_ _**more** _ _suspicious or he thinks you're a complete moron. You decide which is worse."_

_"Fuck," Al shouted. "Let's hope he's the suspicious type then."_

_"Yes, because heaven forbid your crush thinks you're an idiot."_

_"Shut up Mattie," Al's voice came out with an edge but also a bit of a whine._

_"Do you want help or not?" Matthew crossed his arms over his chest and fixed his older brother with a stare._

_"Help," Alfred murmured pathetically. "Please help me," he added, knowing how much his brother valued basic manners._

_"Fine."_

_Of course the quiet stagehand had taken pity on his desperate brother and helped him pick out a song, which they sung into the karaoke machine for a few hours. Matthew even took pity on his athletic, yet clumsy brother and taught him a few of the dance moves that he knew were going to be used for the audition. He was a very observant boy and knew a lot more about the inner workings of the theatre than he was given credit for; but he didn't really mind._

_After a few hours, Matthew wished Alfred a 'good night,' and went to bed. He was actually a bit surprised—his brother wasn't half bad. He would certainly surprise some people when he showed up tomorrow afternoon. Matthew chuckled at the thought._

Sitting up abruptly in his bed, Alfred shook his hair out of his bright blue eyes and grabbed haphazardly for his glasses on the bedside table. Sliding them on and bringing his room into focus, Alfred was unsurprised to find that he was sporting his usual morning wood. He had hoped that the naked in public dream would have kept little Al down for the night; but no luck. Such was the life of a teenage boy.

Absently scratching at himself, he stood up, stretched, and wandered into the bathroom where he could hear the sounds of his brother showering. Creeping in stealthily, he flushed the toilet and ran back to his own room to the sounds of Matthew cursing him out in French from the sudden rush of cold water, and stomping down the hall back to his own room.

Alfred knew that playing a trick on his brother after Mattie had been so helpful the night before was mean and wrong. But he was in a predicament and he needed to heed the call; besides, Mattie took hour long showers all the time—who knew how long the kid would be in there?

Entering the steamed bathroom, he took off his glasses, which had immediately fogged up and stepped into the now warm spray. After wetting his hair, he immediately grabbed himself and began to furiously tug at his hard cock. He hadn't felt this turned on in a while and it was a bit painful, but amazing. With thoughts of green eyes, bushy brows and getting told off in an English accent, Alfred jerked himself to a finish.

As the teenager came, he quietly moaned out, "Arthur." It was almost a whisper against the pounding water of the shower. Arthur Kirkland was definitely going to be the death of him—and now he had to sing and dance in front of the other boy. _'Today is going to be a rough one,'_ Alfred thought as he toweled himself off. He just hoped he could pull off a miracle.

* * *

No one could say that Gilbert Beilschmidt was not a determined young man. What Gilbert wanted he got—no matter the price. And today, what Gilbert wanted was for his best friend to come to World University with him the following year. So Gil knew that he may have to give fate a little push.

Which was why he was lurking around in the school hallways well before classes were set to start. He knew that Arthur liked to show up early to school in order to get in some reading, last minute homework, dancing around—whatever it was that theatre people did in their free time. So Gilbert was standing in an empty hall across from the English boy's locker, half an hour before the start of school, waiting for said Brit to arrive.

When Arthur finally rounded the corner, his uniform perfect with the exception of a few added touches to show the boy's personality—Union Jack Converse, spiked up hair and a few buttons for bands that looked shitty to Gilbert; the German boy immediately pounced on the seemingly unsuspecting actor.

Unfortunately for Gil, Arthur was a sharp cookie and could tell that there was no way the basketball star was hanging out near his locker looking like a criminal for no reason. "What in the world do _you_ want Beilschmidt," Arthur questioned, using the jock's last name, per his style.

"Nothing."

Arthur cocked an eyebrow with skepticism. "Nothing?"

"Okay," the German let out a breath and crossed the hall so he was leaning against the adjoining locker. "Maybe I want a little something."

"Oh joy," Arthur snarked.

"No need to be a dick, Kirkland."

"I am not a dick. I'm a pessimist," Arthur stated. "And I don't like you much; so what is it that you want?" Opening his locker, Arthur did his best to seem disinterested in what the albino had to say. However, as though plotting against himself, his interest _was_ piqued. Gilbert was Alfred's best friend after all, perhaps this was some school-yard way of passing along curiosity in getting undressed together?

"I need you to help get Al cast in your little play thing," Gilbert's red eyes radiated confidence. He was sure the stuck-up actor wouldn't turn him down. He'd seen the mutual looks between the boys and he was damn certain that Arthur had it just as bad as Al.

This was not at all what the English boy had been expecting. He knew the odds of Gilbert coming to deliver a love message was less than zero, but he had still hoped…a little bit. But _this_. Asking him to put in a good word for Alfred with Mr. Carriedo? What the bloody fuck?

Yanking his English textbook out of the locker he glared at Gilbert. "Alright, Beilschmidt, what's your game?"

"No game."

"Really?"

"Truly," Gilbert smirked. "I just need Al in that show. I'm sure you could help out a friend." He took out a hundred dollar bill and lifted the blonde's dress shirt seductively, tucking the money into Arthur's belt loop.

 _'Why is everyone suddenly assuming I'm their friend this week?'_ Arthur mused. Out loud, he slammed his locker shut, took the money from his pants, and said, "Sorry. Talent only." As he walked down the hall, tucking the bill away in his back pocket, Arthur couldn't help but wonder why Alfred Jones would send his flirty best friend to bribe him; and for what? Surely he couldn't actually be considering trying out for the musical. Although, he _had_ come into the library to rent the movie last night. Arthur wasn't sure what was going on, but he didn't like whatever it was.

Gilbert sauntered back down toward the gym smiling. No way could little Artie resist the Beilschmidt smile and a hundred bucks. Al was as good as in that show.

* * *

"Welcome to auditions for the World Academy's production of 'Grease,'" Mr. Antonio Carriedo, the drama instructor's cheery voice rang out over the auditorium. "I'm super excited—and I hope you are all super-duper excited as well!" The head of the drama department was a happy-go-lucky Spaniard with dark green eyes and the beautifully tanned skin speaking of days spent lounging in the sun. He always seemed to be in the best of moods, and tended to speak in exclamation points for some reason.

Spreading his arms wide in welcome at the assembled students, he grinned disarmingly. "I'm so happy to see some familiar faces among us," he glanced at the trio of Arthur, Elizabeta and Natalia seated near the front; gracing them with a soft, affectionate smile. "And it is always wonderful to see the new faces too," the Spaniard grinned at the section of freshman girls seated together looking nervous.

Suddenly, his eyes landed on Alfred F. Jones, who was slightly off to the side, sitting alone. "Some _very_ new faces," Antonio was quite surprised to see the school's star athlete among the throng of theatrical hopefuls. However, despite the Drama Department's current feud with the Athletics Division, he really was excited to see new blood. He smiled brightly at Alfred, drawing attention to the young man.

The lingering pause caused heads to turn and glance in curiosity at the blonde specimen of perfection that was Alfred F. Jones. With one exception—Arthur glared at the handsome blonde. After yesterday's embarrassing interaction in the library, and the shady encounter with Gilbert this morning, Arthur didn't trust the sunny blonde one iota. Natalia, Elizabeta and the rest of the regulars looked at Alfred with mixtures of curiosity, confusion, and in some cases blatant desire.

Alfred didn't shrink down in his seat like Arthur thought he might, being on 'enemy territory' and all. He sat straight and tall, smiling back at the auditorium of people who were staring at him. He actually waved and grinned a "Hi guys!"

Rolling his eyes, Arthur thought, _'God, he's oblivious,'_ even as he internally swooned at the American's blinding smile. Quickly glancing at the two girls seated on either side of him, Arthur muttered, "He has some nerve, doesn't he know when he isn't wanted?"

Natalia grunted in agreement and whispered, "We can always make sure he is aware of that fact, you know."

Arthur shuddered a bit. Sometimes Natalia scared him a little. She was so intense and serious and he knew that she and Anya didn't have the best home life which brought out a darker side to the pretty young girl. "No," he stated quietly. "He'll just make an arse of himself and we won't have to see him anymore."

"Fair enough," said Natalia, absently cracking her knuckles.

Elizabeta didn't say anything. She seemed lost in thought as she gazed between Alfred and Arthur; the former looking happy and the latter looking like he had severe stomach cramps. "Are you okay," she finally leaned over and spoke to Arthur.

"Yes, fine," Arthur snapped a bit. "Why do you ask?"

"You seem particularly upset that Alfred is here."

"I just dislike Jones."

"Arthur," she chided. Elizabeta may have been blind when it came to the stuffy musician currently seated at the piano on stage, but she was no fool when it came to all of Arthur's 'stolen' glances at the handsome athlete.

"Arthur nothing, Eliza," the English boy rarely shortened her name. And hardly _anyone_ shortened it to Eliza without gaining a black eye, but she let him get away with it this time.

On the stage, Mr. Carriedo had continued his speech, giving a brief description of the audition process, the plot and characters of the show, and was now clapping his hands excitedly. "So—yay!" he chirped. "Let's begin, shall we?"

Bouncing off the stage in one quick movement, he headed to the seat he had claimed earlier, stacked with all of his notebooks and his coffee mug, which had been balancing precariously during the last few minutes. "Come on, come on," he clapped again. "Someone get up there and amaze us!"

Roderich, at the piano, slumped ever so slightly as a freshman girl clambered ungracefully up onto the stage and handed him some sheet music that looked as though it had been through a hurricane. The handsome brunette boy _hated_ auditions with a firey passion. Hated them. He snuck a glance at Elizabeta who was leaning over Arthur to whisper something to Natalia and let out the tiniest of sighs.

"Excuse you," the freshman girl snapped. "I need to _wow_ now, so can you like, fucking play?"

"Language!" Mr. Carriedo called brightly.

Roderich began the opening chords and winced as the first auditioner began her song, belting it out completely flat with a few sharps just to make the musician wince. She finished after a few moments and grinned as though she knew she would be a lead, marched over and snatched her sheet music, hissing at Roderich, "You could have kept a better tempo, loser."

Alfred meanwhile watched student after student get up and audition. And despite the relatively slim pickings, he was getting nervous. His heart was caught in his throat and felt like a rock; auditioning was freaking scary! He would much rather be at a tryout for a sports team because at least then, he knew he was good. This was completely nerve-wracking. And there sat Arthur all cool as a cucumber as though he hadn't a care in the world. Alfred gulped. He couldn't help thinking that he wanted to stand up and run from the auditorium. He knew that he wouldn't though—he had a college to get into. But that didn't mean that the thought wasn't there.

Student after student clambered on stage, stood in the bright lights and either made a fool of themselves or actually did relatively well. Most did not. One by one, they all auditioned. A skinny boy with visible acne and a voice that didn't carry to the front row. A girl who looked as though she had cut about three inches off the bottom of her uniform skirt who performed some sort of odd jig while she sang off-key. It was endless.

"Arthur," Elizabeta whispered. "Why haven't you gone yet? You usually are one of the first?"

"I want to see Jones perform," the English boy said. His casual tone betrayed oh-so-much.

"You think he's going to be good, don't you?" she hissed back.

"No fucking way," Natalia joined in quietly. "He can't do anything but run around with balls. Just go next Kirkland, don't be a fucking baby."

Arthur blushed severely at that and Elizabeta took pity on her friend, and the rest of the auditioning students, and stood up abruptly to march onto the stage. She gracefully climbed the ramp to the stage and handed her sheet music to Roderich. When she patted his shoulder, the poor pianist looked as though he may pass out.

Stepping center stage, Elizabeta cleared her throat and made a slight nod—her pre-arranged signal with Roderich that she was ready to begin. Elizabeta was one of the top female performers at World Academy and she showed it. Putting all the previous auditionees to shame, her rendition of "Goodnight, My Someone" brought out the first round of applause heard thus far in the day.

Taking her seat once more, with a smug smile in place, she leaned over Arthur and whispered, "Beat that Nat." Both girls grinned in a good-natured challenge until they saw a tall, lithe blonde take the stage.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," Natalia whispered and slunk down in her seat. Her gorgeous sister Anya was standing on stage and after clearly stating her name and song title, she said, "I would like to audition for the role of Rizzo."

"What!" Natalia was on her feet like a shot. "You can't _do_ that!"

"Why not little sister," Anya smiled serenely at Natalia. Everyone knew that the willowy blonde put on the act of sometimes being a childlike airhead, but everyone knew that Anya Braginski was smart as a tack and as lethal as frostbite.

"It's my part!" Natalia screeched. "It's my part," she said turning to Mr. Carriedo. "You know that. It's mine."

"Now Natalia," Antonio soothed. "Everyone is welcome to audition. If your sister wishes to be Rizzo I have to give her a fair chance, you know that."

Natalia's face was bright red and she looked as though she may start throwing lethal objects at any moment. "Fine," the younger girl spat. "Fine, of course, give it to her—she gets everything else." Sitting back down, Natalia crossed her arms in anger and glared as her sister performed her sultry rendition of "All that Jazz." Unfortunately, she was very good. Natalia fumed for the rest of the auditions.

* * *

Matthew was in his environment. Being able to get out of actually _watching_ the auditions from the audience with Mr. Carriedo and all the Drama Club members was perfect. Matthew hated how some of the members of his organization would heckle the newer people trying out. Or just simply act as if they had better places to be, ala Arthur Kirkland.

Situated up in the old light booth which he now used as an office of sorts, Matthew could see everything that was happening on stage and he had an intercom that was connected so he could hear as well. His laptop propped open, he was using the Light Factory program to do a bit of fine tuning to the 'Beauty School Dropout' scene, when the door to his secluded space flew open and an albino burst inside.

Slamming the door behind him, Gilbert turned and saw that the old light booth was not unoccupied as he had thought. "Well hey there Birdie," the German boy recovered quickly.

"Please Gil," Matthew rolled his eyes. "That was once, and Al always gets them." Matthew referred to the one (and only) time that he had agreed to go golfing with his brother and Gilbert two years ago. Matthew's score had been atrocious and at the last moment he had pulled out a 'birdie' on hole number eighteen. Gilbert had kept calling him 'Birdie' ever since, and Matthew wasn't sure if the albino was actually being cruel with his teasing or affectionate. Gilbert was a hard man to read sometimes…probably because his mind was going in three directions at once.

"What are you doing here?" both boys asked simultaneously.

With awkward chuckles, Gilbert motioned to Matthew to continue speaking. " _I_ belong here Gil," the lighting designer said with exasperation. "What are _you_ doing here? Shouldn't you be at practice?"

The German quirked an eyebrow with amusement. "Practice," he laughed. "Nein. We are totally awesome this year, no way anyone is going to bring us down—they can do without me and Al for one day." Gilbert suddenly grinned, "Besides, I had to see my boy here do a song and dance, am I right?"

The grin looked slightly unhinged. Matthew shivered. "I hope you're not here to be an asshole. Al is really relying on this and he can't have you around screwing things up."

"Nah Birdie," Gilbert sat down in the chair next to Matthew as though he owned it and plopped his sneakered feet on the desk. "I'm totally here in support of Al. He has to get into World U, and I accept that it takes a bit of weird to do that."

"Drama club isn't weird."

"You're weird."

"I am _not_ ," Matthew huffed.

"Sure you are Birdie. You just happen to be my kind of weird," Gilbert wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. Matthew never knew what was going on in his brother's best friend's head. Sometimes Gil seemed… _flirty_. It unnerved him.

"Well," Matthew sighed and pressed another sequence on his laptop, turning away from the German. "If you are _really_ here to support Alfred, then yes, you can stay here with me."

"Great!" crowed Gilbert. "I didn't want to throw off his mojo if he knew I was here."

"Too bad you weren't here earlier," Matthew sighed. "You missed the fight."

"Oooh," the albino propped his arms behind his head, tilting the chair backward. "Who was fighting? Our boy Al and Princess Kirkland?"

"No," Matthew said quietly. "Anya and Natalia. They tried out for the same role."

"That had to have been good," Gil yawned. "I hope some clothes were torn off." Matthew blushed with a, "No," and Gilbert tsked.

Gilbert's attention to the current auditions lasted about four minutes before the red-eyed boy was poking around Matthew's sacred sanctuary. "What's this?" would come from his mouth every few moments. Matthew would always patiently explain and then tell him to "put it down…gently." This continued until Alfred finally got up to audition. Gilbert was prepared to laugh his German ass off—and he, along with the rest of the auditorium, were rendered speechless.

* * *

After Arthur finally decided to grace the stage with his presence and sing his chosen number, a few of the freshmen got up and left the auditorium—no one knew if it was because they had simply come to watch the handsome senior sing, or if they were too intimidated to chance it now. Alfred considered going with them. But his pride, and his scholarship in mind, he sucked it up and slowly approached the stage.

Setting up his iPhone and speakers on Roderich's piano, he smiled in an embarrassed way at the pianist and said, "I brought my own music." Roderich could have cared less, so he shrugged, went back to reading a biography of Mozart and continued sneaking glances at Elizabeta over the top of his book.

"Hi," he began. "I'm Alfred F. Jones, and I'm here to audition."

"Excellent Mr. Jones," Antonio called out. "What part are you looking at?"

"Um," Alfred toed the stage floor. "I'm not really sure, I guess Danny or Kenickie," the blonde American stated.

"Great!" Mr. Carriedo called out, sounding genuinely happy at Alfred's answer.

Alfred made a nervous chuckling sound and went to turn on his iPhone. The opening of "You Ain't Nothin' But a Hound Dog" sounded out over the speakers and echoed into the auditorium.

As Alfred performed his song, with a deep and throaty voice, complete with a few dance moves that looked suspiciously like the choreography from the dance audition they had yet to complete, Arthur felt his face draw into a frown. The jock was good. He was _very_ good. Arthur actually felt his face flush as Alfred swung his narrow hips around.

When the blonde athlete had finally finished his performance, the auditorium was dead silent for a few beats before cheering erupted among the students. More cheering than even Arthur had received. It made the English boy nervous. There was no way he could go down to a theatrical nobody like Alfred F. Jones…no matter how beautiful, handsome, and attractive the boy was to him.

* * *

He didn't want to betray how nervous he actually was, so Arthur arrived at school a half an hour early so that he would have a chance to peruse the cast list in solitude. Alfred's audition had actually shaken him a bit and the young English actor was loathe to admit that the blond American had been on his mind more often than usual the past few days. He was relatively confident that he didn't have anything to worry about, but better safe than sorry.

Walking briskly down the deserted halls, Arthur made his way to Mr. Carriedo's office. Antonio always tacked the list up to the corkboard next to his door at promptly six AM and Arthur knew from experience that the cheerful drama teacher was just as excited to post cast lists as the students were to read them.

Spinning around the corner he paused for a moment at the end of the hallway to take a deep breath and fix his eyes on the corkboard at the end of the hall. Allowing his moment of weakness since he was alone, Arthur took only a second before he marched down the corridor with determination. Reaching the announcement board and the crisp white paper of the cast list pinned in the exact center required another deep breath before he could focus.

The first thing his gaze latched on to was the role of Danny Zuko. His name was not next to the part. He didn't get it. He didn't get the part. _He didn't get the part?_ For the first time in his life, Arthur Kirkland had failed to secure the lead role. The handsome blonde couldn't seem to wrap his mind around the concept and stood stock still, blinking for a good three minutes before he chanced another glance at the list. It still wasn't his name. When he finally pulled himself together enough to see the name that was printed neatly next to the character of Danny his blood ran cold.

Alfred F. Jones.

Alfred Fucking Jones!

Was this some kind of sick joke? What in the bloody fuck was Antonio playing at? Casting some random newbie as the lead role in the musical—Alfred wasn't even a member of the sodding Drama Club! Arthur felt his skin flush as his temperature spiked in anger. Furiously, he bit his lip enough to hurt and forced himself to look at the rest of the list.

He wasn't even the Teen Angel.

Bloody Hell. How did Francis land that part? Arthur didn't even remember seeing him at auditions. Knowing the French boy, he had probably done something unholy and lewd to get a part…a part with a solo song. Bloody fucking Frog.

Anxiously, Arthur scanned the cast list, his green eyes darting so quickly that it looked as though they were blurred. When he finally managed to make sense of the list enough to find his own name, his eyes narrowed as he realized he had been cast as Kenickie. Not that it was a bad part, Kenickie was a fun character to be sure—he simply didn't have any solo songs. And Arthur _needed_ a solo in order to impress the theatre faculty at World University.

The drama professors made a point to come to most of the performances at the academy in order to poach talent as soon as possible. Arthur had been the lead in everything until now, so perhaps he still had a chance since they had seen him consistently for the past few years. But to lose the lead to an unknown in his senior year did not speak well for the blonde Brit, and the thought that he may not be accepted into the university's drama program because of this set-back was almost enough to cause Arthur to pass out.

He managed to delicately place his hand on the wall to steady himself as the thought of his dreams being dashed hovered in the front of his mind. His vision was blurry and he wasn't sure if he was breathing. This was a complete disaster. All his years of work for naught, just because Alfred Sodding Jones suddenly decided to try to trip the boards. Bastard. Arthur didn't care how attractive the tall blonde was—this was war. Alfred Jones was about to find out that he messed with the wrong Englishman.

Allowing his anger to build, Arthur clenched his fist, digging the nails into his palm and growled deep in his throat. Determined to get his way, and secure his place at the University of his choosing, Arthur formulated a quick but efficient plan that he would set in motion as soon as possible. Distracted by his scheming and his mounting fury, the green-eyed boy didn't hear the footsteps padding up behind him.

So when Arthur turned around and ran smack into a broad, hard mass of pectoral muscles, he managed to gasp in surprise, appreciation and then hatred when he finally ripped his eyes away from the chest that was inches from his nose and saw those perfect blue eyes smiling down at him.

"Hey!" Alfred chirped. "You came early too! I was so nervous I couldn't sleep. Did you get the part you wanted?"

Arthur narrowed his eyes and pushed away from Alfred, moving down the hall as quickly as he could manage. "Piss off, you mediocre twat," he spat over his shoulder in the direction of the athlete. He didn't turn around, keeping his back rigid as he stalked away—so he didn't see the crestfallen look on Alfred's face at his venomous comment.

Confused at the other student's treatment of him, Alfred blinked in surprise and hurt, pushed his glasses up his nose and turned back to the list quietly. Why would Arthur have been so rude and angry with him? Maybe Artie wasn't a morning person—that could be it. Alfred scanned the cast list and his eyes landed on his own name next to 'Danny Zuko.''

Oh.

That made sense then.

His family always teased him at how oblivious he could be on occasion, but Alfred wasn't as out of touch as everyone thought. He just preferred to seem carefree so that no one really expected anything from him—but he could read the atmosphere pretty damn well. And right now, he knew _exactly_ why the cute Brit had been so touchy a moment ago. Alfred had the lead. The lead! No one but Arthur had been the lead in a school or community production in years!

' _Shit,'_ Alfred internally moaned. This was horrible. This was the worst thing that could possibly happen!

He was ecstatic that he had been given the lead—that meant that the position of Drama Club President was his, and he could use that on his application to World U. But it also meant that Arthur was going to hate him—probably forever. Not that Alfred would really blame him. If Arthur had shown up one day for basketball tryouts and made starter over Al, you better believe the blonde athlete would have had something to say about _that_ injustice.

He was just going to have to show Arthur that he didn't mean any harm and that it was only one show. He couldn't bear it if he had shot down his only chance with the sexy Englishman just because of a college application. Arthur was sure to understand that college admissions were super important and he would eventually come around. Yeah, he would come around…someday.

' _Nothing to worry about Jones_.' It was the last soothing thought that Alfred had for the remainder of the week.

Meeting Gilbert over by their lockers, Alfred began to grab the books for his first class and waited for his best friend to start with the questioning. Sure enough, about ten seconds later, a German accent flooded his ears with a "Did'ja get it? Did you? Did you? Come on, you can tell me. Tell Uncle Gilbert if you got a big part in the little show," Gilbert pleaded and made a pouting face.

"I hate it when you refer to yourself as Uncle Gilbert," Al said. "It's creepy as fuck dude."

"Yeah, that's mostly why I do it," Gil nodded. "So," he dragged out the 'O's making the word incredibly long. "Alfred F. Jones—did you get a fucking part—and don't tell me you're in the chorus."

Alfred took a breath, closed his locker and looked his friend in the eye. "Yeah," he breathed out. "I got a part."

"Ha! I knew it!" Gilbert cried. "You were so damn good, I knew you'd get something."

"What do you mean, 'I was so damn good,'?" Alfred cocked his head. "How would you know what my audition was like?"

"Ah, I was watching from the light booth with Birdie."

"What!" Al shouted. "You were—"

"Nevermind that," Gilbert waved a hand casually. "So, what part?"

Alfred glanced up and down the deserted hallway as though he was looking for someone in particular. "The lead," he whispered. "I got the part of Danny. I got the lead, Gil."

"Ha! I knew it! A hundred bucks well spent!" Gilbert crowed.

"What?" Alfred gasped. "What are you talking about Gil?"

"Little prissy Artie K," Gilbert said as though his best friend was an idiot. "I bribed him a hundred bucks to get you cast in a lead role."

Alfred was dumbfounded. "I don't know dude," Al said slowly. "Arthur seemed pretty pissed off that I was cast when I saw him. He even called me 'mediocre.' Which, I took personally, cause I'm not mediocre at anything."

"Sex." Gilbert said deadpan.

"You can't be rated mediocre at something you've never done," Al said.

"Ah ha!" Gilbert pointed his pale finger at Alfred's nose. "I knew it! I totally got you to admit! My little baby is still a virgin!"

"Ah, fuck," Alfred groaned. Gilbert had been pestering him for the last two years on if he was still 'untouched as the driven snow,' as the albino liked to say. And for all that time, Alfred had never fallen for any of Gilbert's tricks to make him admit one way or another. Serves him right for being distracted. Alfred was pissed that he had finally admitted his 'deep dark secret' to his friend.

"Wait 'til I tell Ludwig," Gilbert said, mentioning his younger brother. "He is gonna owe me a fifty. Thanks buddy." The albino boy clapped Alfred on the back.

"Whatever," Al muttered darkly. "Anyway, I don't think you got your money's worth—I'm pretty sure Arthur would have taken a bribe to keep me _out_ of the show, but I don't think he got me cast."

"You think you're that good, Sunshine?"

"Yeah, I do," Alfred lifted his chin defiantly. "Besides, it's nice to have money spent on your behalf for no reason. Hope you didn't need that hundred for anything…you know…like a keg this weekend." Alfred wiggled his eyebrows, mentioning Gilbert and Ludwig's upcoming party.

"Shit!" Gilbert slammed his hand against a locker. "You owe me brother."

Alfred laughed. "No way…you did that dumbass thing all on your own."

"Fair enough," the German sighed. "Well," he said, seemingly recovered. "Now that you're in the show, we have a new project!"

Warily, Alfred looked at Gil. "What?"

"Getting you laid."

* * *

Arthur managed to maintain his composure until third period when he decided that he was finished attempting to take the high road. He skipped class and went stalking toward the choir room with an angry glint to his eye, a formidable scowl and a 'fuck off' attitude. Students scattered in his wake as the short Englishman marched through the halls.

He was so angry and intent on speaking his mind that he only gave a perfunctory knock before throwing the door open with what strength he had. Barreling into the room, Arthur pointed an accusing finger at Mr. Carriedo who was seating casually behind his desk and barked out, "How could you?" The English boy's voice was full of hurt, betrayal and a small hint of fury.

"How could I what?" the drama teacher asked cheerfully.

"You know exactly what," Arthur snapped. After a moment of his teacher staring at him blankly, the blonde huffed and snorted. "The cast list," he stated. Still no reaction from the faculty member, Arthur began to turn a bit red from holding back. "Antonio," he said, addressing his teacher by his first name. "You _know_ what I mean. I saw the cast list. This is _my_ year! My _senior_ year! And you have the audacity to cast an unknown and, dare I say it, _mediocre_ student who has never before set foot in our part of the building as Danny Bloody Zuko! You dismissed me to basically be a chorus member for one of my final performances; and after all of the hard work and dedication I have put into this school's dramatic program!"

The drama teacher didn't look as cheerful as before by this point in Arthur's rant. Mr. Carriedo leaned forward and opened his mouth to speak, before being cut off once more by the English boy.

Gesticulating wildly, Arthur flapped his arms and screeched, "And _don't_ get me started on the Frog! You are going to let _Francis_ be the Teen Angel? Seriously? Do you want this show to flop? Because I am beginning to feel as though you have given up on this school's reputation. Not to mention," the English boy continued in a long breath. "The fact that Jones is a member of the basketball team and after last year, how do you know that he isn't up to something nefarious!"

Finally getting a word in while Arthur took a breath, Antonio stated, "Alfred was quite remarkable, you have to admit Arthur." The drama teacher smiled. "He had a fresh, raw sort of feeling that I wanted for Danny. You've done so many leads, I thought it would be interesting to shake things up a bit after I saw the boy perform. And I don't think he is up to anything. In fact, I know he isn't. There are special circumstances with Alfred."

Arthur huffed angrily at that, still seeing red and fuming over the cast list. "Special circumstances, is it? I get shafted because he's special! Seriously? He was passable, perhaps; but not enough to lead an entire cast."

"Maybe," Mr. Carriedo mused. "But I chose who I thought was best for the part. I am truly sorry that you are so upset Arthur. I actually thought that you would be excited, honestly."

"Excited?" Arthur raised an impressive eyebrow. "Excited for what, exactly?"

"You always said that you wanted to try your hand at something besides a leading man. Kenickie allows you to be both!" Antonio threw his hands wide and grinned at his favourite student.

Arthur rolled his eyes and mumbled something unintelligible.

"Wouldn't you agree Matthew?" Mr. Carriedo turned his glance to a spot slightly behind Arthur, where the shy stagehand was standing, holding a large binder and his laptop; his light eyes wide as saucers and his lower lip in a slight quiver.

Arthur blinked, mortified that his outburst had been witnessed. And not simply witnessed; it had been seen by the brother of the boy he had been ranting about. "Matthew," Arthur choked out. "Good to see you," he looked awkwardly at the ground and tried to do some deep breathing.

"Yeah," Matthew breathed quietly. "You too Arthur. Sorry to interrupt."

"Nonsense," Arthur rushed. "I was obviously the one interrupting—you've no need to apologize Matthew. I'll…take my leave." He glared once more at Mr. Carriedo and spun on his heel to leave the office. He managed two steps before colliding with the very warm, firm chest of Alfred himself; for the second time that day.

"Hey Artie," the athlete grinned. "You okay buddy?"

Blushing and stammering, the shorter boy spat out, "I'm not your buddy!"

"Yeah, I gathered that from you calling me 'mediocre,' and 'passable,'" Alfred was still grinning. "Is that English-talk for 'You Really Hate Me?" The handsome jock chuckled.

Arthur narrowed his eyes. _'The git is actually teasing me!'_ was his first thought, while his second was embarrassment that Alfred had overheard the entire conversation as well. This day was shite. Complete shite. Maybe he would transfer to the all-boys school, two towns over, he heard they sometimes did theatre. And even if the student body were mostly Americans, it was an all-boys school—he was sure to at least find _someone_ to distract him until graduation. Ugh. Arthur's head hurt. He simply stood, rooted to his spot as Alfred glanced over his head to the drama teacher.

"I'm just stopping in for my script," the athlete chirped.

"Excellent!" Mr. Carriedo smiled, handing over the pre-highlighted script for Alfred. "What about you Arthur, would you like your script as well?"

Arthur, who hadn't been able to tear his eyes away from the tight, white cotton tee that Jones was wearing the entire time since Alfred had entered, slowly turned, his eyes glinting. "No," Arthur said venomously. "No thank you Antonio. I don't see why I should do the show this year, honestly."

The three other men in the room went silent. The first to recover was Alfred. "Awe, c'mon Artie!" the tall blonde whined. "You gotta do the show, you're the best!"

Arthur _did_ notice the light blush dusting Alfred's cheeks but he didn't comment on it. He simply stated, "Obviously not. If I was the best, then I would have the lead." He shoved past Alfred and spat out, "And the name is Arthur. Got that Jones?" Stomping out of the drama instructor's office, he shouted out, "And you're not even in uniform Jones!" He turned the corner and was gone.

About twenty minutes later, after Alfred and Matthew had left, Arthur slunk back into Mr. Carriedo's office. He apologized for causing a scene; told the drama teacher off once more in private, and took the script for Kenickie. If Alfred Jones wanted to see the best, he was going to see the proper way to upstage an upstart.


	3. Welcome to the Theater

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: This chapter contains mentions of drug use, swearing and a bit of public indecency; also, underage drinking.

_**Chapter Three: Welcome to the Theater** _

_"The world is a stage, but the play is badly cast." –Oscar Wilde_

Arthur called an emergency meeting of himself, Elizabeta, and Natalia immediately after stomping out of Mr. Carriedo's office. He really needn't have bothered, since the girls were actually trying to seek him out before he inflicted some sort of harm on an unsuspecting freshman in his misery. Meeting them near the door to the costume shop, Arthur grasped each girl by the arm and said, "We need to ditch and figure out a plan." The girls agreed immediately.

Which was how, fifteen minutes later, the trio was seated in a tacky red plastic booth receiving their drink orders from the diner waitress; coffee for Arthur and Natalia, and a strawberry milkshake for Elizabeta. The three actors came to the diner often for a late night cup of coffee after rehearsal or to simply get away on the weekends. It was their "usual place."

"I can't understand how you can drink those things," Arthur sniffed. He hated the diner. It was cheap and greasy and utterly American, and Arthur despised all of those things. In contrast, he secretly _loved_ the diner because anything he could find fault with was something that gave him a sliver of joy. And Arthur could find _many_ things wrong with their usual hangout.

"Because they're delicious," came the retort. "Besides, you don't have to be pretentious to be an actress, and I like the color."

"You like pink?" Natalia raised a brow.

"Yes I do," Elizabeta took a long slurp of her milkshake. "I like the taste of strawberries, and sometimes, I know, it's rare," she conceded. "Sometimes I enjoy girly things like the color pink. As I said, 'you don't have to be pretentious.'"

"We're not pretentious," Natalia grumbled and sipped her coffee.

"Anyway ladies," Arthur took a deep breath. "We aren't here to debate the choices that Liz makes in her drink orders, we are here to start a revolution."

"Hear hear!" Elizabeta clanged a spoon against the glass in front of her.

"Bitch has gotta go down," growled Natalia. The other two paused and looked at her warily for a moment.

"Yes, yes, quite good," Arthur finally said, his voice a bit shaky.

"That was odd," Elizabeta murmured to herself.

Arthur began, "We have to find a way to get Alfred F—for fucking irritating—Jones out of the show!"

"I could ask my brother for help," Natalia volunteered glancing casually at the menu.

Pointing a finger directly at her, he very firmly stated, "No."

"Just a thought."

"A… _bad_ thought," he corrected. "We want Jones gone, not dead."

"Oh," the pretty blonde girl shrugged and said, "You should always specify these things. It can be confusing. Gone. Dead. Gone."

"I think we should plant some weed on him," suggested Elizabeta, licking some whipped cream off of her finger in a seductive manner.

Arthur stared at her for a moment and shook his head as though clearing the cobwebs. "No, that would never work. No one would believe it."

"Why not?" Elizabeta questioned seriously.

"Because everyone knows that Alfred Jones is a straight-laced goody boy who would never touch pot," Natalia cleared up.

"Exactly," Arthur pointed at her again, only softer. "Although…" he trailed off. "Although, that plan may have a good base to it." He shifted against the sticky booth and stroked his chin like a super villain. "You know," Arthur said, his eyes lighting up. "I think we could turn that idea into our favour. It wouldn't be too hard, just simply not marijuana. Something else though…something else would work…"

The three of them exchanged devious glances and clinked their cups together. The day was finally starting to look up for Arthur Kirkland.

* * *

The next morning Alfred was greeted with a very unpleasant sight when he arrived at school. Leaning against his locker with a scowl that would send a dragon running, was his coach, Mr. Lovino Romano. Coach R was an intimidating, and ruthless leader who always got the best out of his players—despite the fact that he was almost a full head shorter than all of them. Alfred gulped when he saw the coach and figured he may as well take his licks and get it over with.

"What's up Coach?" he went for a cheerful smile and an oblivious expression—sometimes it helped that everyone thought you were all looks.

"What's up?" Coach R narrowed his eyes and ground his teeth. "What's fucking up?" The coach may have had an anger management and swearing issue, but the school mostly overlooked it since it was privately funded and he had a case full of championship trophies behind him. "You know what's up Jones," he spat. "You and Gilbert missing practice the other day. What the fuck was that all about?"

"I'm really sorry about that Coach," Alfred nodded, his expression turning serious. "It won't happen again."

"You're goddamn right it won't," the surly little coach snarled. "I still have to talk to Beilschmidt but you're both in hot shit right now. You're benched for the next two practices. Let's see how well you fucking play without training with your team. And," he pointed a finger at Alfred menacingly. "Don't think I won't bench you two for games if I have to."

Alfred whined, "But coach, that's totally not fair I was doing something really important!"

"Oh, something really important?" The coach mimicked Alfred with a little high pitched voice before going back to his usual bass tone. "Pray fucking tell, what was it?"

Alfred's eyes went wide and he realized the corner that he'd painted himself into. Fuck. "I was," he stammered. "I was auditioning for the school musical."

"Jesus, Jones, I knew you were a fruit but really? You think that's important enough to miss _my_ practice?" The coach's voice held no pity.

"Mr. T said I had to 'flesh out my school activities' or something like that so I had to do it," Alfred pleaded. "I swear to God; I really had to do this!"

Behind the coach, Gilbert meandered up to his own locker and chuckled. "What'd ya do to piss off little Lovi this time Al?"

Whirling around, Coach R glared at Gilbert. He _hated_ that Gilbert sometimes referred to him by his first name—and usually mockingly at that. I guess that was the price when you had been family friends for years before you became some little punk's teacher. "It's Coach R. Or Coach Romano. Or Supreme Coach Who I Will Always Listen To. Whichever you prefer… _Gilly._ You're in enough fucking shit right now as it is." Turning back to Alfred, the coach pointed his finger again and said, "Don't make me regret letting you two stay on the team after this. I hope your prancing around in a fucking tutu was worth it."

Stomping away from the boys, they watched him push through the crowd of students wandering the halls. A sophomore stepped in front of him and received a verbal lashing in the form of, "Excuse you! I'm a fucking teacher. Fucking little bastards," before the coach marched away, glaring at all of the students who crossed his path.

"What the fuck was that all about?" Gilbert asked Al.

"Missing practice," he replied glumly. "We're benched for two practices and we can't miss anymore. He threatened to bench us from an actual _game_." Alfred looked at his mischievous friend seriously.

"That's shitty," Gilbert nodded. "He won't do it. We're the best players he's got."

"I think he will. He seemed really serious."

"Eh," Gilbert shrugged. "That little Italian fuck always seems serious. Good thing his husband is more fun, otherwise my grandfather wouldn't put up with the two of them mooching dinner off of us every freaking Sunday."

Alfred tried hard to feel as confidant as his best friend about their coach's threat, but he couldn't shake the feeling that his life was about to get even more complicated than it already was.

* * *

"Okay, everybody quiet down please!" Mr. Carriedo called out over the din of the auditorium. Slowly the teenagers in attendance began to taper off of their conversations and pay attention to the tanned drama instructor. He sat on the stage with his shirtsleeves rolled up, swinging his legs, and smiled at the assembled cast. "So," he began. "You're all here because you were talented enough to be placed in the cast of the World Academy production of 'Grease,' and let me tell you—that is a _huge_ honor." The drama instructor took a deep breath and beamed happily at the students seated before him. "Before we start our read-through, we are going to do a quick Introduction and Trust Game!"

Arthur rolled his eyes. He _hated_ trust games—mostly because he didn't trust anyone. It was a good rule of thumb when growing up in the theatrical world, and with older siblings. Arthur had plenty of experience relying on himself between both pieces of his life; from the slew of backstabbing in the theatre department and the conniving schemes of his elder brothers. To say that Arthur Kirkland had trust issues was putting it mildly. Bloody fucking Trust Games—this rehearsal was going to be horrific. He actually had no idea _how_ horrific.

Mr. Carriedo had everyone in the group stand up, say their name, the part that they would be playing, and their favourite colour. Arthur was surprised to hear that Alfred's favourite hue was green—he had thought for certain that the jock would pick blue to match his eyes. Not that Arthur had been spending a lot of time thinking about Alfred F. Jones' clear blue eyes. Maybe a little bit of time, but _most definitely_ not a _lot_ of time. Arthur had never expected the two of them to have anything in common, much less the same favourite colour.

The introductions made their way slowly around the students, each person causing Arthur to dread this whole experience more and more. When his turn to speak finally came, he practically spat which character he was portraying before muttering, "Green," and sitting back down in a huff.

Once everyone had went around the circle to perform the mostly unnecessary introductions—with the exception of a few Freshers, the Drama Club knew one another; and _everyone_ knew Alfred F. Jones—Mr. Carriedo called them all up onto the stage. "Okay everyone," the drama teacher's cheerful voice rang out in the large space. "We are going to sit in a circle, front to back. Everyone is going to put your legs around the person in front of you," he said, demonstrating with Natalia who glared and looked mortified. "One in back of the other, yes that's right, good."

The students muttered under their breaths and complied. Most of the drama kids had no trouble with the instructions at all. The 'Bobsled,' as Mr. Carriedo was wont to call it, was a common Trust Exercise he did with his classes. It was teamwork and moving as one, and making sure that everyone was comfortable with someone in their personal space. One couldn't have a class or rehearsal with Antonio Carriedo without the happy-go-lucky Spaniard invading your personal bubble.

Unfortunately, Arthur found himself with Alfred directly behind him. He was basically going to be sitting in the other boy's lap. Gritting his teeth, he looped is legs around Elizabeta who giggled a bit and tried to pretend that it wasn't Jones who was curling his muscular legs around his own torso.

"Watch it there, Jones!"

"Sorry Artie."

"It's _Arthur._ Arthur Kirkland. Remember it," the British boy ground out.

"Sorry."

"Ouch!" Arthur yelled as the handsome athlete's legs tightened around him uncomfortably. "Damn it Jones! You're squeezing me."

"I can't help it dude," Alfred whined slightly. "This is super fucking awkward."

"Yes," Arthur's tone was clipped. "It is."

The boys shuffled in silence for a while, both trying to get comfortable in the difficult position as Mr. Carriedo continued with the instruction. "Now on the count of three, I want all of you to pretend to be on a bobsled together."

The trio of Arthur, Natalia and Elizabeta rolled their eyes good-naturedly and began to rock side to side.

"Good," Antonio shouted happily. "See how they are performing and mimic that! Yes!"

Soon, all of the students were rocking back and forth, side to side, in unison while Mr. Carriedo called out instructions such as "You just hit an icy patch," or "It is so cold your teeth are chattering!"

Unfortunately for Alfred, the motion of his long-time crush rocking against him was about to put him into a very embarrassing predicament. He could feel himself beginning to stir below his belt and he was doing everything in his power to stop it. But all he could think about was how his legs felt around Arthur's waist. That alone caused him to rocket to full hardness.

Suddenly, Arthur stiffened against him. Shit. He knew. He had to know. And Arthur _did_ know. He was minding his own business and following Antonio's instructions in a bored and robotic manner when he felt Alfred's cock pressing against his lower back. _'Bloody fuck, he has a boner!'_ Arthur was shocked. He knew it was most likely simply from the motion, but a small part of him hoped that maybe it was also a bit to do with him.

He immediately stopped his rocking and his breath caught in his throat. "Jones," he muttered so only the other boy could hear him. "What the bloody fuck is happening back there."

"Oh fuck, Artie," Alfred practically moaned. "I'm so fucking sorry! I can't help it."

"Oh my god," Arthur began to move slightly again so as not to call attention to them. "Well make it stop Jones."

There was a pause, and a sucked in breath and Alfred said simply, "I can't."

"What?" Arthur's voice raised in volume just a little. "What do you mean you can't? Put it back down."

"Really dude," Alfred deadpanned. "You should know that it isn't that easy."

Arthur huffed and rocked back into Alfred a little harder, earning him a grunt from the larger boy. "Well," said the Englishman. " _Do_ something."

"I'm fucking trying dude," Alfred sucked in a breath. "Oh Christ, Arthur. That's amazing."

"Oi!" Shouted Arthur as he craned his head back to look at Alfred. The attractive blonde American's cheeks were flushed a beautiful red and he had a bead of sweat on his brow. He looked delicious. The sight of Alfred looking so delectable in public made Arthur feel a bit of a twinge below his own pants. Thankfully he was better at handling awkward boners in public. Just to be a bit of an asshole, he pushed his hips back hard against the American who whined and ground forward.

Arthur couldn't believe it. They were practically dry humping in front of the entire theatre department and no one seemed to notice a thing! Testing it out once more, Arthur shoved his hips back against Alfred's hard cock and felt the boy stiffen up considerably. Then he felt the warmth seeping against him. The bloody American had creamed his jeans! Arthur was both horrified and incredibly turned on. He could feel Alfred's breath on his neck as the larger boy clung to him, panting. Thankfully Mr. Carriedo decided to stop the "Trust Exercise" around that moment. _'Well,'_ thought Arthur, _'at least Jones doesn't seem to have an issue with personal space.'_ The English boy snickered.

Jones' hands and arms slid away from him and Arthur missed the warmth. "Um, Mr. Carriedo," Alfred's voice was shaky. "I need to use the restroom."

* * *

Two days after "The Incident," as Mattie and Gil had begun to call it, Alfred was finally forced to talk to Arthur. This was both good and bad for the handsome American. He wanted things to be back to normal, where Arthur was just grouchy and yelling at him. He wanted to be able to daydream and jerk off to the picture in his mind of Arthur sweaty and moaning beneath him without remembering his complete and utter embarrassment. He just wasn't sure if that would ever happen. So when he was stopped in the hall by the sexy Englishman and his two-chick entourage, Alfred was nervous, yet hopeful.

"Jones," Arthur gave a clipped nod as he approached Alfred in the hallway, flanked by both of the leading ladies. Elizabeta and Natalia looked as gorgeous as ever and Alfred was a bit intimidated to have all three of the drama department's key players circling him.

"Um," he raised an eyebrow in confusion. "Yeah?"

"Look," Arthur crossed his arms and gave the athlete a glare; although he had a deep blush colouring his features. "My own personal opinions aside, you're one of the crew now."

Alfred nodded. He was blushing now as well.

"We want to welcome you," Elizabeta chimed.

"Yes," Natalia smirked. "It would be our pleasure to give you a proper welcome to the Drama Club."

"Call it an 'Initiation' if you will," Arthur added.

"An initiation?" Alfred looked a bit worried. "Like, hazing?"

"No!" All three of them put their hands up and spoke as one. It almost looked rehearsed, but Alfred didn't seem to pick up on it at all.

"No," Arthur chuckled. "Not like hazing…well, not really. We just have to make sure that you can run with the big boys now, don't we?"

Alfred simply nodded silently again. He was a little suspicious, but he was mostly curious. Spending time with Arthur would be a dream come true. So, maybe he'd have to drink a bottle of hot sauce, or prank call the Coach or something, whatever. It was worth it if he could do it with Arthur; maybe get the cute little Brit to see him as something to be interested in.

"So," Elizabeta smiled. "You just bring your cute little derriere to the chorus room tonight around six pm. We'll be waiting." Her grin looked so open and innocent that it threw Alfred for a loop. He would spend time with Arthur and become accepted by the other members of the theatre department. Life was looking good.

"Remember," Natalia said, fixing him with a stare. "Come alone."

"Yeah," Alfred agreed. "I'll be there."

"Excellent," Arthur smirked. This was too easy.

The trio turned and walked as one down the hall, sauntering away from their _mostly_ unsuspecting victim.

* * *

Alfred entered the school at quarter 'til six through the gym. Most of the school's exceptional athletes knew the alarm code for the gym door so that they could use the facilities to train during the weekends and off hours. He had went home to change. Thinking that if this really _was_ some kind of initiation into the drama department that he had to go through that he may as well look his best. He put on a clean pair of dark blue jeans and his 'Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade' t-shirt. He figured it was poetic—just like Indy, he was about to face his trials. Alfred giggled as he crossed the gym floor, his footsteps echoing in the darkness.

He had asked Mattie when he got home what was going on, but his brother didn't seem to know either. He assumed that it was an Actor's Only thing then. The actors could be kind of dickish to the tech crew, which Alfred didn't really understand. Wasn't the whole point was that they all loved theatre and could bond over a shared interest? Apparently not.

Turning down the hall towards the choir room, he could hear some faint laughter. Opening the door to the large choral area, Alfred noticed that he wasn't the only one who had been invited. The newer members of the drama club, the freshman, had all gathered in one corner, holding bottles of what Alfred assumed was root beer. In fact, most of the cast were mingling around among the chairs and the music stands. Alfred was a bit ashamed to admit that his eyes were searching for tousled blonde hair and green eyes.

"Alfie!" Elizabeta and Natalia seemed to appear out of nowhere. "It's so good to see you," chirped Liz. "We weren't sure if you were going to make it."

"Nope," Alfred grinned. "I wouldn't miss this for the world!"

"Great," Natalia stated blandly and pressed a bottle of root beer into his hands.

"So," Alfred raised the bottle to his lips. "Do you guys do this for every—" his train of thought was cut off as he drank deeply from the bottle only to discover that it _wasn't_ in fact, root beer, but actual beer! He sputtered and the beer shot out of his mouth and nose.

"Aw," Natalia patted his arm as though he were a child. "Poor baby can't hold his booze."

"Nat," Liz chided. "Maybe he's never drank before."

"No way!" Alfred said hoarsely. "I have drank before. I have. I just wasn't expecting it!"

"Sure," Natalia rolled her eyes.

"Seriously," Alfred protested. He took another swig of the beer, this time allowing it to wash down his throat. "See. I'm good." Both girls simply stared at him for a moment. He stared back. "What?"

"Nothing," they spoke in unison.

"I just didn't think you guys would have booze here, you know…since its school property," Alfred said truthfully. "Aren't we gonna get in trouble?"

"Aw," Natalia said again in a mock baby voice. "Trouble? The little basketball star is worried about getting in trouble. That's adorable."

Elizabeta laughed. "No way," she said. "Mr. Carriedo doesn't care and none of the other faculty members are here tonight. It's totally safe."

"Really?" Alfred asked skeptically.

"Truly," Elizabeta confirmed. "We do this all the time."

"Okay," Alfred seemed a bit hesitant but he took another deep drink from the bottle.

"That's a boy! Come on," Elizabeta hooked her arm through his and Natalia took the other. "Let's mingle."

The next half hour or so was a blur for Alfred. He was introduced to practically every member of the drama department and every time his beer was empty another mysteriously appeared in his hand. He was beginning to feel a bit tingly when Liz and Nat guided him over to Arthur who was sitting in Mr. Carriedo's armchair like a king, drinking what looked like straight scotch.

"Look Arthur," Elizabeta pushed Alfred toward the English boy. "Alfred showed up!"

"Excellent," Arthur smirked. "Would you two ladies mind terribly if I stole him away?"

Alfred didn't see Elizabeta wink when she said, "Of course not."

Arthur patted at the folding chair sitting near him. "Sit down."

Alfred complied and he could already feel the effects that the beer was taking on his judgement _and_ his complexion—he was blushing like a schoolgirl. Although, Arthur had a faint pink tinge to his cheeks as well, so that was something. Alfred was so nervous he almost missed the chair and tipped a bit to the side before sitting down and gazing at Arthur.

By this point in the evening, Alfred was a bit tipsy and he looked around them as though he were a spy—not a very good one, mind you—and turned back to Arthur with just the tinge of a slur in his voice. "Sorry about the boner," he stage whispered.

Arthur chuckled. "Don't worry about it love." He took a swig from the scotch glass in his hand. "Happens to the best of us." He didn't mention that he had rather enjoyed it; as well as the wank he had that night thinking of the incident.

"Good," Alfred breathed out a sigh of relief. "Cause I really like you and I would hate if I fucked it up because I got an inconvenient hard on."

Arthur sat up straighter in his chair. "You like me?" he asked, honestly surprised.

"Yeah," Alfred smiled. Arthur loved that smile. "I've liked you for a really long time," the athlete admitted.

Knowing that he could get some information out of the slightly drunk American, Arthur leaned forward and whispered, "So you fancy me? You want to shag me?"

"If that means I want to have fucking hot sex with you and kiss you all the time," Alfred said happily, "then hell yeah!"

Smirking, Arthur leaned back in his chair once again. This was an interesting and very welcome development. To think, all this time he had been pining over Jones, he could have just walked up and grabbed the boy's cock and kissed him. Ugh—hindsight and all that. Arthur huffed angrily a bit just thinking about it.

About to ask the inebriated Alfred another question, Arthur happened to glance at the classroom's clock. It was almost seven pm. Right on time. As much as he would have loved to stay and ask Jones exactly what 'fucking hot sex' would involve, it didn't mesh with his current plans. Glancing around the room as he said, "That's wonderful Alfred, tell me more," Arthur made eye contact with the established members of the drama department. They all nodded and touched their noses discreetly.

Standing up, Arthur patted the babbling American on the shoulder and said, "One moment love, I need another drink and then we'll talk some more." Alfred bobbed his head drunkenly and sipped on his tenth beer of the evening. The other members of the drama club made their excuses and they all shuffled out, leaving Alfred and the few new Freshers hanging out alone in the choir room surrounded by alcohol.

The senior members snuck out of the school and made their way to their cars which were parked discreetly in the neighborhood by the academy. They knew that it would be fine. They had played this prank for years, and each had it played on them. Usually it was only a few beers and Mr. Carriedo would scold them good-naturedly when he showed up at seven pm like he always did. Although, this year, they had added quite a bit of booze to the count, simply to try and get Alfred drunk enough to get kicked out of the play—Arthur and his friends weren't worried. They just started up their cars and left for the night.

At exactly seven pm, the door to the choir room opened up on Alfred and the new freshman drama kids. It wasn't Mr. Carriedo as it usually was…it was the guidance counselor, Mr. T. And he did _not_ look happy to see drunk students on campus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I am so sorry I keep dumping crap all over poor Alfred—and I'm sorry that Arthur is a total douche so far. He's going to have to get taken down a peg or two I think. But no worries…they will both get character change at some point, the more they learn.
> 
> Yes, the 'Bobsled' is a shout out to the song "Nothing" from "A Chorus Line" and the last chapter's title was also from "A Chorus Line" (Zeplerfer got it first!) Does anyone know which musical this chapter's title is from? I'll give you a hint—Lauren Bacall.
> 
> The touching their noses when they signal each other to leave was a nod to "The Sting" which is one of my fave movies—Robert Redford, Robert Shaw and Paul Newman—so good! Watch it!


	4. Without You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I took a bit of liberty in the way that Alfred's punishment is dealt with. I figure that this is a prestigious private academy and they would want to keep things hush hush, so he doesn't get in as much trouble as he would in real life—so remember kids, don't drink at school—or when you're underage. Bad things, etc.
> 
> Once again, Zeplerfer wins with Applause! And a note to you, Zeplerfer, it probably should be Mr. V instead of Mr. T, but I found the students calling Finland Mr. T to be highly amusing since those two (Finland when not a sniper and the infamous Mr. T) are total opposites for the most part.
> 
> For those of you wanting to see Arthur come down a peg or two for his assholishness, do not despair. This chapter is going to be rough for our favourite little Drama Douchebag. He should have seen this coming.

**Chapter Four: Without You**

_"Without you, life goes on, but I'm gone…"_

_-Mimi and Roger (Rent)_

Alfred sat outside of Mr. T's office the next morning with a bit of a hangover and a lot on his mind. His head was hanging and he felt as though he was going to throw up. What the fuck were the drama kids thinking? He could get royally fucked because of this. It wasn't just some harmless joke—there was a chance that Alfred would no longer be eligible for scholarships, or be allowed to play sports! He could even get arrested!

To say that his parents had been displeased when they received the call from Tino last night would be an understatement. They had been pulled away early from a charity dinner in order to collect their eldest for public and underage drunkenness. Thankfully, Mr. T hadn't called the police last night. Alfred didn't know if his luck would hold out but he sure didn't want the authorities involved.

Alfred wished that he could send Matthew into this meeting in his stead. They looked enough alike, save for the eyes, and his brother would know exactly what to say to avoid getting into trouble. Fuck. Alfred's eyes hurt. His hangover combined with the stress of his situation was causing him to sniffle a bit. He refused to cry though. This was nothing he couldn't handle.

The clock ticked over to eight am, the time of his meeting with the guidance counselor. Alfred groaned and stood, straightening the tie on his uniform before knocking a bit timidly on the large oak door of Mr. T's office. This was going to be painful.

"Come in," came the soft voice of the guidance counselor.

Pushing the door open, Alfred peeked around the corner before entering the small, yet tasteful space. "Hi Mr. T," he began, walking inside. "I guess you wanted to see me?" He tried to chuckle in a charming fashion but he ended up just coughing and turning a bit pink.

"This isn't a laughing matter Alfred," Tino went to sit behind his desk. "This is a very serious issue."

"Yes I know," Alfred tried to sit up straighter. "I'm sorry."

"I'll bet you are," Mr. T nodded. "Between the hangover I'm sure you have and the prospect of being expelled and arrested for underage drinking and trespassing, I'm sure you are _very_ sorry."

"Trespassing!" Alfred shrieked. "I wasn't trespassing!"

"I know," Tino soothed. "It was one of the possible charges when I talked with the headmaster this morning. However, Coach R has assured me that he had given you the key code for the gym and that you had his permission to be on school property after hours whenever you needed to train." Alfred breathed a sigh of relief. "However," Tino continued. "You did _not_ have his permission to be anywhere other than the gym and definitely not to be drinking. He wanted me to tell you that he is—um, 'very fucking pissed at you,' or something of that nature."

Lifting his head, Alfred's eyes were wide with surprise at the mild mannered guidance counselor swearing.

"Luckily for you Alfred," Mr. T stated with a very serious tone. "The Academy wants this to remain an Academy matter."

"What does that mean?" Alfred asked curiously.

"It means that Headmaster Oxenstierna wants to keep this quiet so not to ruin our reputation of excellence." Alfred kept giving Tino a blank stare so the guidance counselor sighed and went straight to the point. "There won't be any police involvement. We are going to handle this within the school."

Alfred let out a huge breath that he hadn't even realized that he was holding. "Really?"

"Really," Tino let himself give the teenager a small smile. "It is going to be okay Alfred, don't worry," he stated soothingly. "You're getting off easy here."

Alfred nodded. "Yeah. I mean yes…sir."

With a brusque nod, Mr. T leaned forward over his desk and said," Who gave you the alcohol?"

"What?" Alfred started. He hadn't been expecting _that_ question.

"Who supplied the booze?" Tino tried for another attempt at 'teen speak'—the kids these days called it booze, right?

Alfred wasn't a complete fool; he knew that if he gave up the Drama Club, his sentence would most likely be much lighter than it should be. But thinking of Arthur's green eyes made the poor, trusting American hesitate. Maybe it was all a mistake? Alfred also knew that ratting out the Drama Club meant that the musical would most likely be cancelled, and that was unacceptable. He needed that stupid musical to get into freaking college! So Alfred did the only thing he could think of and lied…badly.

"I don't know sir," he said. "We just walked in and found it there. It could have been anyone."

"You just found it," Mr. T's voice was skeptical. He knew Alfred was lying, he just couldn't figure out why. It was obvious that the drama kids had set up Alfred and the freshman, but the guidance counselor couldn't understand why Alfred would try to protect them. He just needed the senior athlete to name a name or two. "So, you're telling me that you walked into the choir room—randomly—and you found beer and liquor and drank it for no apparent reason? Is that your story?"

"That's my story."

The boy sounded confident, Tino had to give him that much at least.

"Alfred," Mr. T sighed. "Are you one hundred percent sure that you want to tell me that story? You know that Santa doesn't visit liars."

Tino chuckled a bit as Alfred's eyes widened slightly before the boy shook his head and stated firmly. "That's what happened."

"Okay then," the guidance counselor said heavily. "Then I'll give you your punishment."

"I'm ready," the hungover teenager nodded wearily.

"You are hereby given one week of in school suspension which will be spent in the library, on orders of Headmaster Oxenstierna. You are benched from the next _five_ basketball games on orders from Coach R. And you will write a letter of apology to the school board members for drinking on campus and causing this mess. If, at the end of the school year, you haven't caused any more trouble, your record will be expunged."

" _Five games!_ " Alfred cried. "You can't bench me for five games!"

"Mr. Jones, I'm not the one benching you," Tino stated. "Your coach is. Take it up with him. In school suspension starts tomorrow. You may go to your regular classes today. You're dismissed."

Alfred looked stunned and whispered "five games" again under his breath. He couldn't believe it. The in school suspension didn't even register with him. Five fucking games. There was no way that this was an accident. Those fucking drama douchebags did this on purpose and they messed with the wrong American. This was fucking war!

* * *

Arthur Kirkland was on Cloud Nine as he walked into school that morning. He headed for his locker with a spring in his step and an unusual smile on his face. He was having a lovely day. For starters, there was a very good chance that Jones would no longer be in the show after Mr. Carriedo found him drinking in the choir room. And secondly, said gorgeous athlete liked him!

Arthur was still honestly in a bit of shock over that. He never thought in a million years that he would get a chance to be with Alfred F. Jones. But last night's drunken confession of wanting hot sex made Arthur feel warm all over. He'd basically been sporting a constant boner since it had happened just thinking about Alfred's smooth voice saying how much he wanted him. The idea of him and Jones together was breathtaking and had given Arthur plenty of fodder in the shower last night. To think, he had been in love with Alfred for years and now he could readily admit his feelings knowing that they were reciprocated by the little bugger. Arthur smirked and let out a small growl of happiness as he adjusted his school blazer. Everything was going his way.

That is, until he was roughly shoved from behind.

Crashing into a locker to his right, Arthur used his hands to brace himself against the cold metal and turned just in time to see a pale fist smash into his eye. He hit the ground fast and hard, almost not registering the pain spreading through his face.

"What the bloody fuck Beilschmidt!" Arthur screamed. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"You and those bitches of yours got Al suspended and benched from five fucking games you little fuck!" The German boy screamed down at him. His voice was lower and more hostile than usual. Gilbert meant serious business.

"What?" Arthur held his bruised palms up toward Gilbert as though it would ward him off. "I most certainly did not!"

"Yes you did," Gilbert growled. "You got him drunk and left him to be found by Mr. T you asshat!"

"What?" Arthur repeated in horror. Mr. T! No, they were supposed to be found by Antonio!

"Antonio and his stupid husband had dinner with my family last night so he wasn't at the school to lock up," Gilbert sneered. "Look, I know your plan, you do this almost every year. Remember that my brother is head of the Newspaper Club and he was going to out you all last year for your fucking hazing but you begged him not to. You're shit, Kirkland."

By now, there was a small crowd of students surrounding them and Arthur was actually beginning to fear for life and limb.

"You fucked with the wrong people this time," Gilbert growled. The albino boy's fist came down once more to hit him again when it was suddenly pulled back. Matthew had grabbed onto Gilbert as soon as he realized that the German was not going to let up on the little Englishman.

"Gilbert no," Matthew tried to make his voice louder as he pulled on the basketball player's arm. Both he and his brother were abnormally strong, so it wasn't difficult for the soft-spoken boy to subdue the incensed German. "This isn't the way."

"It's the only way I know," Gilbert spat.

"Just…relax," Matthew said, letting go of Gilbert's arm as he felt the albino's muscles release. Turning slowly to face Arthur who was still crouched on the ground, holding his eye, Matthew's face took on a look that no one had seen on the quiet boy before.

"I thought we were friends Arthur!" Matthew cried in an abnormally loud voice. "You're making all of us look bad! How could you do that to Alfred? He's never been anything but nice to you and he's just trying to get himself into college! I would have thought that _you_ of all people would appreciate that." The blonde bore his violet tinged eyes into Arthur's green and the look he gave caused Arthur's knees to shake a bit. He always wondered how in the world that the two boys could be related with such opposite personalities…it seemed that Matthew just needed a good reason to speak up.

Suddenly, a loud voice cut through the air. Alfred. "What the fuck is going on here?"

"We were defending your honor," Gilbert smirked, admiring the bruise forming around Arthur's left eye.

"By punching him in the face?" Alfred seemed incredulous. "Dude, that's not the way to handle this. I've got it."

"He got you fucking benched Al," Gilbert cried and pointed angrily toward Arthur who was still slouched against the locker.

"Yeah, I know. It will work out."

"I doubt it, we need you."

"I'm gonna talk to Coach and see if he'll let up."

"Let me do it," Gilbert said. "He owes me one from a few years ago."

"Really?" Alfred asked. "Okay, we can go together."

The two boys turned to walk away from the scene when Arthur choked out, "Alfred."

Stopping suddenly, Alfred didn't turn to look at the English boy. He simply stopped and said "No," before he and Gilbert and Matthew were gone.

After a few minutes, the crowd had dispersed and Arthur got shakily to his feet, using the locker for support. The metal felt too cold to his flushed skin and he pulled away quickly. He would have to see the nurse for an ice pack. But she would ask questions. He knew who to ask. Someone who always had the thing you needed no matter how obscure.

Anya Braginski.

He dreaded talking to the gorgeous Russian girl. But it was either that or deal with the sting of a black eye for the the rest of the day. Anya it was.

Making his way slowly down the hall with his head drooped, Arthur thought back on the last few hours. It had begun as such a lovely day.

* * *

"Please Coach, you gotta let up," Alfred whined leaning forward, his hands planted firmly on Coach R's desk.

"No Jones, I don't _gotta_ do anything," Coach R crossed his arms and glared at the two boys standing in front of him.

"Please," Alfred tried.

"No."

"Pretty please with cherries?"

"Fuck no," Coach R growled. "You'd have better luck with tomatoes."

"Come on Coach," Gilbert spoke up. "You know we're fucked without Al."

"Yes," the coach responded sassily. "You're practically a joke Beilschmidt and the rest of the team are fucking clowns who don't know the basket from their own asshole. But I don't have a choice."

"What do you mean you don't have a choice?" Alfred questioned. "Mr. T said that you were the one who decided to bench me."

"Yeah," the coach grumbled. "Because you were an idiot who got _caught_ drinking on campus and I don't want morons on my team for a few games."

"What the fuck," Alfred groaned.

"Funny you say that," Coach R said smirking. "That was my _exact_ thought when I heard my star player was _drinking on campus_!"

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Alfred kept saying. "My parents are gonna kill me!"

"Coach, come on," Gilbert spoke up. "Do us a solid and change your mind."

"Fuck no," was the reply.

"I didn't want to do this," Gilbert crossed behind the desk and put his strong hands on the coach's back, leaning in to whisper something to him. Immediately, Coach Romano's body stiffened and his face turned beat red—with embarrassment or anger, no one knew.

"Fine," he barked after Gilbert was done whispering. "You're only benched for two games, how's that?"

"I'll take it!" Alfred cried. "Thanks coach!"

The two boys left their fuming coach alone and walked back to their lockers. "What did you say to him?" Alfred asked.

"Nothing," Gilbert smirked. "I just reminded him how he met his husband."

"That bad huh?"

"Let's just say the fucker owes me," Gilbert let out a small giggle.

Alfred began to shuffle a bit. "Well thanks dude," he said. "You saved my ass…I couldn't have lasted five games on the bench."

"Yeah, I know," Gilbert grinned. "We need you Al. Just don't let this fruity theatre shit stop you from remembering why you need to get into World U in the first place, okay?"

"I promise," Alfred smiled back.

"Awesome."

* * *

He felt like he was sneaking up to the attractive Russian girl's locker. As much as everyone in the school loved Anya Braginski, she was still slightly shady. Despite being best friend's with her sister, Arthur never had much contact with Anya. Mostly because Natalia and Anya didn't get along. Natalia wanted her sister to like her and respect her, and Anya didn't respect anyone except herself. The entire familial relationship of the sisters was fucked up if you asked Arthur. Which no one did.

He stopped in front of a locker with a sticker of the Russian flag on it and a poster for vodka taped to the front. This was it. He looked around and saw no one. Maybe she was running late.

"Hello Arthur Kirkland," came a smooth voice from behind him.

_'Where the bloody fuck had she come from?'_ he thought. "Ah, hello Anya."

"Braginski."

Arthur blushed, not quite knowing how to respond. So he simply repeated her name. "Anya Braginski."

"Yes," she smiled softly. "What can I help you with? Any friend of my sister's can have one free favour."

Arthur hated to think what a favour that you _paid_ for would look like. "Um," he stammered. "I need an ice pack. You wouldn't…happen to…you know, have one?"

"Of course," she silently flipped the lock and opened her door, pulling out a small white bag. Cracking it in her hands, she held it out to Arthur, looking down on him with a calming smile.

Pressing the slowly cooling pack to his eye, Arthur breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you," the English boy said, honestly grateful.

"No problem," she smiled again. "Now we discuss payment, yes?"

"Payment," Arthur was confused. "But you said I got a free favour."

"You do," she said softly. "But I have a feeling you will want the free favour for something else. This won't cost much. Nothing almost."

Thinking hard as the cool of the ice pack sunk into his skin, Arthur nodded once and said, "What is it then?"

"Go to Homecoming with me," the request was stated simply.

"What?"

"Look," she said. "I know you're gay. It doesn't actually bother me like people think it would. But you're hot and I'm hot and no one has asked me and I want to get to know my sister's friends more."

Arthur didn't know what to do. He mutely nodded, bobbing his head silently.

"So," she asked. "Will you do this for me? Come to the dance as my date. We would have fun I think."

Arthur had to admit it was an interesting prospect. The dance was a few weeks away and he could handle one night with an attractive lady. Most gay men went to functions with women if they didn't have a significant other anyway, he may as well start. Especially since it seemed that Jones' offer of hot sex was no longer on the table if his violent friend and cold reception this morning were any indication.

"Fine," he stated and held out his hand stiffly. "You've got a deal."

The childlike smile that usually graced the beautiful Russian's face broke into a full on grin. A grin like Alfred's. Arthur shook his head. He had to stop thinking of the American boy. Anya grasped his offered hand tightly and shook it once. "This is good," she smiled happily. "I will see you then."

"Yeah," said Arthur, still holding the ice pack to his face as she walked away. "See you then."

* * *

That evening, sitting in the rec room in Alfred and Matthew's home, Gilbert threw his legs up on the coffee table and sighed. He gazed absently at his hands. He wore the scrapes like a badge of honor.

Matthew came up with a bag of frozen peas and tossed them to Gilbert who promptly put them on his knuckles and said, "I can't believe you stopped me Birdie."

"What was I supposed to do Gil," Matthew said as he sat down. "You could have killed him."

"Yeah dude," Alfred chimed in from another chair. "You had like, crazy eyes."

"I was pissed," Gilbert stated. "I may have overreacted."

There was a silence in the room. "That's it," Matthew finally said. "You _overreacted._ "

"Yeah."

"Damn Gil," Alfred whistled. "I hope you never get pissed at me."

"That is highly unlikely," Gilbert crossed his arms.

Alfred stood up and started to walk toward the stair. "Does anyone else want a soda?" he asked.

"Sure," Gilbert replied. "You, Birdie?"

"Maybe a ginger ale," Matthew practically whispered. His brother ran up the stairs.

The two boys sat in silence for a few moments before Gil spoke up. "Hey Birdie," he started.

"Yeah?" came the timid response.

"You look incredibly hot when you're angry."

* * *

Arthur was absolutely dreading going to his library volunteer job today—he knew that Alfred would be starting his in-school suspension and would be there, reading or studying, or breathing. And Arthur preferred to not have to see the taller boy at the moment. He still wasn't sure what he was going to say to Alfred. Probably the truth would be the best, but Arthur was never keen on the truth unless it could benefit him in some way.

Trudging along toward the library, Arthur ran different scenarios in his mind as to how the handsome athlete may react to him. It was Alfred, he probably didn't care. In all their years of attending the same school, Arthur had never seen Alfred get worked up about anything. He always held his cool, no matter what the situation. Perhaps this would be the same and the American would be his usual jolly self, and then Arthur wouldn't have to apologize. That would be excellent. Arthur hated apologies. He always thought they sounded insincere.

Entering the library, he made his way to his desk and set down his bag. Brushing imaginary dust off of the counter top of his workspace, he glanced around the room as casually as possible. There. In the corner sat Jones. He was hunched over a large textbook and writing furiously. Occasionally he would stop and flip through the book to find something only to go back to writing with the speed of a cheetah.

After about forty minutes, Arthur took a deep breath and realized that it was now or never. He had to find a way to apologize to the boy he had grown to love the last few years. Deciding that the direct approach was probably the best, Arthur took some determined steps toward Alfred.

"Alfred?" Arthur's voice was full of uncertainty.

He was met with a glare and silence.

"I wanted to talk about the other night," Arthur began.

"Well I don't want to talk to you," Alfred snapped. "You practically ruined my life because of what—a joke? Are you fucking kidding me?"

For once, Arthur was speechless. "I didn't—"

"No," Alfred cut him off. "You didn't think. Do you even know how bad my punishment is? If I fuck up any more this year it goes on my permanent record and you know how colleges are going to see that."

"I'm—"

"What? Sorry? Too late Arthur."

"But," Arthur started. "You said you liked me. That you wanted to kiss me and—"

"You think I would want to do that now? Kiss you? After all this?" Alfred's voice was like ice.

The bell rang signaling the end of the day.

"Alfred," Arthur whispered.

"Save it." Alfred packed up his bags quickly and turned away from the English boy.

"Alfred, honestly I am sorry," Arthur choked out. "We thought Mr. Carriedo would catch you. He's always barging in on us and he just laughs and says to not do it again. I really didn't—"

"Don't," Alfred cut him off, turning slightly to glance over his shoulder. "Just don't Kirkland."

Arthur's breath hitched at the use of his last name. Alfred _never_ used his last name. "Alfred," the British boy practically groaned out the American's name and trailed off.

"I know that you've been trying to get rid of me since day one. Guess what, you succeeded. I'm dropping out of the show. I don't care about extra-curriculars or World U or _you_ anymore." The American turned his head back and slowly walked away.

Each step that Alfred took made another crack in Arthur's heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Ooooh drama! Alfred is finally pissed, Gil and Mattie are getting closer and Arthur is going to Homecoming with Anya. I don't think that is going to sit well with anyone.
> 
> I think the guessing game is a bit easy on this one, since I gave it away with the quote…


	5. What the F**k Was That?

**Chapter Five: What the F**k Was That?**

" _Conflict is what creates drama. The more conflict actors find, the more interesting the performance."_  
-Michael Shurtleff

It was the next morning and Alfred had been having a rough twelve hours since he had left Arthur standing pathetically in the library. The handsome American had been in a full blown pity spiral for the first two hours, bemoaning the loss of his long-time crush. Not long after that, he had hit the anger stage for a good twenty minutes. Unfortunately it was followed by the "wouldn't it be nice to have hate sex" phase which had the poor boy running for the bathroom and a cold shower.

"I know what you're doing in there!" Matthew came close to a shout in order to be heard over the running water. He politely knocked on the door twice. "You're not fooling anyone Al!"

The water shut off and Alfred flung the door open into his brother's face wearing only a low-hanging white towel around his waist. "Jeez Mattie, what?" he questioned in a grumpy tone.

"Other people in this house need the bathroom in the morning too Al," the younger of the two stated calmly. "You took a shower last night. You're not fooling anyone."

"I'm not trying to fool anyone about anything," Alfred stammered. "I was just…sweaty."

"From sleeping," Matthew raised an eyebrow.

"Yes."

"Uh huh."

"Whatever dude," Alfred pushed past his brother, a few droplets of water from his hair dripping onto the carpet.

"This isn't healthy," Matthew called after him.

Alfred ignored the advice and stormed to his bedroom. Removing his towel and rubbing it through his hair, he placed his glasses back on his face and looked down. _'Son of a bitch, he was hard again.'_ This was not going well. He hadn't even been mad at Arthur for a full day and he was already feeling the pain. This was pure torture.

Grabbing his school uniform, he pulled on the plaid pants, hissing as the fabric rubbed over his most sensitive area. Fucking Arthur Kirkland…no wait—don't think those words together—ah fuck it was too late. This day was going to be a nightmare. All he had to do was try and make it through without breaking down and remembering the optimistic look on Arthur's face when he brought up Alfred's drunken confession. Those green eyes with the glint of hope in them were almost enough for Alfred to forgive. But he would stay strong. No amount of sexy accents or pleading eyes were enough to crack his resolve…at least, not yet.

* * *

 

Arthur had been in a complete state of despair for the past twelve hours. Ever since his hopes and dreams of himself and Jones had been thrown back in his face—deservedly so, he had been depressed. His mother had even made him a pot of tea that night which he had proclaimed to be "complete rubbish" before drinking it anyway. The tea didn't help. This was turning into an incredibly serious problem. If Arthur could go back in the Tardis and change what he had done to his boisterous American crush, he would. In a heartbeat. But he didn't have access the way The Doctor did, and was therefore royally screwed.

He wouldn't blame Alfred if the cute jock never spoke to him again.

Grabbing his cell phone, he sent a quick text to Elizabeta. He hated having to involve her any more in the whole sordid issue, but she was a clever girl and could get things done. He figured that the best person to approach Alfred was the least threatening to the lad…which left out him and Natalia, for sure.

He had to find a way to win back Jones.

* * *

 

Two days after he had coldly brushed off Arthur in the library, Alfred F. Jones was in a miserable state. He missed his British crush, despite the cruel trick, and it was taking all of his self-control to not break down and go talk to the English boy. He knew he couldn't do that.

What Arthur had done was almost beyond unforgivable. He could have serious consequences for his future. But a small part of his soul, way deep down, Alfred was having second thoughts. He couldn't seem to get those big green eyes out of his head, the green eyes that had pleaded with him to forgive. He couldn't stop hearing Arthur's voice crack as he whispered his name, only for Alfred to rebuke him and leave. Alfred knew that he wasn't the one to blame for this mess, but his complicated feelings made remembering that fact a bit difficult.

Which was why, when he was met at his locker on the third morning of his in-school suspension, he wasn't surprised, or upset—he was a bit relieved. Although the visitor was not who he had expected.

"I need to talk to you," Elizabeta stared him down.

"Why?"

"Because I want you to understand what happened and why and how sorry we all are." The brunette girl's voice cracked a bit. She looked like she was holding back tears. Alfred wasn't going to be fooled twice. He knew she was an actress.

"Sorry Liz," Alfred slammed his locker door and stared right back at her. "I don't really want to talk to anyone about that shit."

"Come on," she insisted, the tears immediately gone. "I know you want an apology. And I also know that an apology will probably make you forgive us all—it's in your sweet nature."

Alfred huffed at the accurate and perceptive statement. She was right. He probably would forgive them with an apology. He wasn't the type to seek out revenge if there was a good explanation. Despite the fact that he had been plotting their utter downfall for the last two days, Alfred was a kind and sweet boy and he really did want to see the best in people. He couldn't help but feel that maybe Arthur had really been sincere in the library the other afternoon and he had shot him down—deservedly, but still.

Plus, the last two days without being able to gaze longingly at Arthur were taking their toll. Matt was starting to catch on that Al had been taking about three cold showers a day. This had to stop.

"You see," the infuriatingly pretty girl smirked at him. "So just hear me out," she said. "Please."

"Fine," Alfred agreed. He decided that was the least he could do.

Suddenly Al felt a heavy hand clap down onto his shoulder and he turned to see Gilbert grasping him, with his brother hovering behind. "Hey dude," he said to his best friend.

"What's going on here?" the albino leered at Elizabeta.

"Oh no," Elizabeta put her hands up. "I am _not_ talking with _him_ around."

"What's wrong baby," Gilbert smirked. "Too much for you to handle? No wonder I only took you out once."

"We went on _one_ date Gilly," Elizabeta snapped. "Because you groped my chest, called me 'Baby' the whole time and then _I_ had to pay!"

"What?" Matthew looked sideways at the albino. "You really made her pay?"

"Dude," Alfred chimed in. "You didn't even go Dutch? Man, Gilbert, your family is loaded—why'd you make Liz pay?"

"Because," the German boy said in a patient tone, as though the three standing in front of him were preschoolers. "If freaking Red Lobster had shown up on my card, my grandfather would have flipped shit knowing I went to such a crappy place."

Elizabeta tsked and said, "And apparently you took me to a _crappy_ place."

"I wasn't gonna waste a good restaurant on a date I knew wouldn't put out."

"Bastard."

"Devil Woman."

"Guys!" Alfred cut in. "Knock it off. Mattie," he addressed his brother. "Can you and Gil go on ahead, I'll meet you."

Matthew nodded silently and grabbed Gilbert by the arm as he was still muttering under his breath about the brunette girl. The two boys walked away, leaving Elizabeta and Alfred alone.

"I know what you're thinking," she stated glumly.

"Oh yeah? What's that?" Alfred's voice was cocky, yet cold.

She sighed dramatically. "You're thinking that I'm an actress and that I can lie to you without a second thought." The jock's eyes went wide. "And you know what?" she smiled with a sinister look. "You're right."

"So then why the hell are you here?" Alfred ground out.

"Because even though I _could_ do that, I'm _not_. I know you don't trust me, or Arthur or Nat right now, but I am not lying to you when I say that it was an accident…mostly."

"What the fuck does that mean?"

"It means that we play that trick every year on the new drama kids," she explained. "Come on, lets walk," Elizabeta slipped her arm into Alfred's and they started down the hallway. "You see Alfred," she began, gripping him tightly. "We don't like new blood in the drama department."

"Yeah, I gathered that."

"So every year," she continued as though he hadn't spoken. "We set up the newbies for Mr. Carriedo to find. He stays late every Tuesday you know. Says he gets more work on his play done at the office—he's a writer and composer you know."

"I didn't know."

Elizabeta hummed. "Anyway, we set the new kids up and Antonio finds them." She didn't blink an eye at the familiar use of her teacher's name, but Alfred raised an eyebrow.

"And what happens then?" the jock couldn't help it, he was intrigued.

"Then—he yells at them," She smiled prettily. "No one gets in trouble, no one gets suspended, no one gets benched. Nothing."

"So what's the purpose?"

"To separate the wheat from the chafe," she shrugged. "Some little bitches get so scared they drop out of drama and we never have to deal with them. Some don't…they take their verbal licks and move on." She suddenly stopped in the hallway. "The point is, we were expecting Mr. Carriedo to find you guys and give you a talking to. To be completely honest, we figured you would freak and drop out of the show."

"I bet Artie would have _loved_ that," Alfred rolled his eyes.

"Yes, he would have," she agreed. "Then Danny would be open for him to take."

"Well, he got what he wanted didn't he?"

"No," she stated in a whisper. "Arthur has been miserable for days. He regrets it…deeply."

"I doubt that."

"He does."

"Really?" Alfred's voice was skeptical.

"He does," she repeated. "Look, I know that you don't have to believe me, but we really didn't mean for this to turn out the way that it did. Like I said, we do this every year. Arthur, Nat and I have all been in your shoes that night…the only difference was that we didn't get in deep shit for it."

Alfred tried to not believe her. He really did. But something in the back of his mind made him feel as though she were telling him the truth. He knew that it was probably because it was what he _wanted_ to hear. But he didn't care.

"Fine," he said. "So what do you want?"

"First rehearsal since this all happened is tonight," she stated. "You're going to be there."

"And if I'm not?"

Elizabeta shrugged. "If you're not, we will survive. We always do. The show must go on and all that. But the show, and our cast, will be all the poorer for not having you as our Danny." She gave him a true and genuine smile then. "Think about it." Turning on her heel, she left. Alfred watched her walk away.

* * *

 

Arthur was the typical actor in many ways, one of which, being that he didn't really mix with the tech crew. His difference though was that he was always polite to them, and he _did_ consider Matthew a friend. Which was why, two days after the incident in the library, he found himself pacing the hallway outside of the auditorium before his lunch period was set to start, trying to talk himself into going up to Matthew's "office."

The English boy knew that the best shot he had for apologizing to Jones was through the jock's brother. Matthew could talk some sense into Alfred like nobody's business, and he also had a key bit of information that Arthur desperately needed. He just wasn't sure that the reception would be a warm one.

Finally steeling himself, Arthur pushed open the auditorium door and stomped his way up the aisles towards the old lighting booth. He went to fling open the door of the booth but for the first time in Arthur's memory it was locked. That was odd. He began to pound on the door and shouted "Matthew, are you in there?"

There was a rustling and a bump, as though something had fallen over before Matthew's voice drifted through the door saying, "Sorry, I'll be right there."

Arthur stood still, his posture perfect, as he waited for the shy techie to open the door. It took about three minutes before Matthew pulled the door to the lighting booth open, his face flushed as though he had been running. "What's up Arthur?" he asked.

"May I come in please?" The English boy looked suspicious.

"Yeah, sure," Matthew held the door so Arthur could step through. There were tons of boxes piled up and stacked haphazardly around the small space. "Sorry about the mess, I take all the deliveries for the department."

"I don't know what we would do without you," Arthur responded sincerely.

There was an awkward silence as Matthew looked shyly at his shoes and Arthur let his gaze wander around the room.

"Look here Matthew," Arthur began. "I need your help."

"With Alfred," came the immediate response.

Taken aback, Arthur blinked a few times. "Yes, with Alfred," the English boy attempted a smile. "Look, we can't have him dropping out of the show at this time. I know we haven't had many rehearsals yet, but the lad is good. Very good, I admit."

"I know," Matthew said, his chest puffed a bit with pride for his older brother.

"I need him back," Arthur said. At Matthew's raised brow, he amended, " _We_ need him back."

"Anything to get him out of the bathroom," muttered Matthew.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Anyway, I need his locker combination," Arthur came to the purpose of his visit.

Matthew narrowed his eyes, "Why? Are you going to plant weed on him this time?"

"Dear god no," Arthur pleaded. "I really mean it, we want him back. Look," reaching into his bag, Arthur pulled out a small box wrapped in superhero birthday paper. "You honestly don't want to know how painful it was for me to buy this."

"Yeah I can tell," Matthew noted the grimace on the English boy's face.

"I want to leave him apology gifts," stated Arthur. "I just need a place to leave them. Please," he begged. "Trust me."

"Why in the world should I trust you after this week?"

"Because," Arthur huffed. "I swear to you on Earl Grey Tea, that if Alfred doesn't like the gifts I leave him, you can have that horrendous albino friend of yours knock me 'round again."

A muffled sound was made from the corner of the room that sounded like "Hey!"

"So what do you say?" Arthur looked directly at Matthew. "Please."

Matthew took a good three minutes to stare down Arthur until the Brit began to shift uncomfortably. Huffing a breath out, he said, "Fine. I'll help you."

"Oh, thank god," Arthur breathed, and placed the wrapped gift back into his bag.

"But I'm holding you to your word—if it's something bad, not only will I get Gil to kick your ass, I'll probably help him—and then I'll turn you in to Mr. T."

"Deal!" Arthur shouted as he shivered a bit from the threat. "Gentleman's honor."

"Okay then," Matthew nodded. "His locked is number—"

"Oh, I know the locker," Arthur blurted without thinking.

Matthew raised a brow at him. "Of course you do." Arthur blushed prettily and dropped his head a bit. "Anyway—the combination is right eight, left forty-two, right sixteen"

"Excellent."

"Remember what I said Arthur," Matthew's voice went low. "I'm not kidding."

"I know," the Brit said in all seriousness.

"Well, then good luck," Matthew said, "Or break a leg or whatever you want me to say. I hope this works out. Al deserves and apology."

"Yes, he does," Arthur agreed. "Thank you, Matthew truly," Arthur gave a rare smile. "I have to win him back." With that, Arthur Kirkland left the lighting booth sanctuary feeling better than he had in days.

As soon as he was gone, Matthew sighed and closed the door, locking it once again. "You can come out now," he whispered.

Gil poked his head out from behind some stacked boxes, his bare shoulders visible, and said, "What the fuck was that?"

"I have no idea," came the quiet response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Yes, Alfred wants to forgive Arthur, I know, I know, it's a bit rushed, but I really want these kids to start getting to the good stuff…I mean, damn, Matt and Gil are obviously getting hot and heavy already. Some USUK/UKUS stuff needs to happen soon or I'm going to go crazy xD
> 
> I really enjoyed writing Elizabeta for a while instead of just a few lines here and there. She is going to be involved in some of the upcoming conflict as well…*Hint* Arthur is already kind of using her.
> 
> Alfred's locker combination, 8-42-16 are numbers from Lost…because Lost is amazing.
> 
> Oh Gilbert…what in the world are you doing? LOL
> 
> If you know the musical that this title is from, then you are hella cool and we should be friends. Seriously.


	6. Confrontation

**Chapter Six: Confrontation**

_"Actors think more with their hearts than with their heads."_  
~ William Esper

Alfred sauntered casually into the rehearsal that evening, his right hand playing with a Captain America PEZ dispenser, twirling the toy in a never-ending loop between his fingers. The show of dexterity distracted Arthur enough that he could hide his shock. Apparently Elizabeta had come through. He wondered what she had said to the jock. No matter; Alfred was there and perhaps they could finally have a heart to heart and Arthur could officially apologize. The blonde athlete's presence was comforting for the reigning king of drama; he knew that Alfred had been the best choice for the role. He didn't like it, but he understood it.

"Hey Artie," Alfred said as he plopped down in the seat next to Arthur, pausing to pop one of the PEZ into his mouth.

"Hello Alfred," Arthur was surprised that things were going smoothly so far. He was on guard—nothing ever came this easy. "You're speaking to me again?"

Alfred shrugged. "I figured that I can be civil in public." He turned to grin at Arthur, taking in the actor's raised eyebrows. "Not that you're forgiven. The PEZ was a nice touch—I have practically a year's supply now, thanks to you."

"How did you know it was me?" Arthur sputtered.

"I didn't," Alfred grinned again. "But I do now. You'll have to do better than that Artie," the voice came in a whisper, directed only at Arthur.

Straightening primly in his chair, Arthur tore his attention away from the handsome boy next to him and tried to focus on Antonio who was just calling the rehearsal to order.

"Excellent," the drama teacher began. "Looks like everyone is here." The relief was apparent in Mr. Carriedo's voice; as though the drama instructor had known about all the current tensions running around his cast—which he did. "I'd like to begin with the 'Greased Lightning' number today and I was hoping, that no one would mind if I switched it up and allowed Arthur to sing this number?"

There was silence as the group all turned to stare at Alfred and Arthur. They knew that Mr. Carriedo was trying to placate the grumpy leading man and they were all waiting with baited breath to see if Alfred would raise any objections.

"Nah," the athlete said, causing the entire room to let go of a single breath. "Artie would be better at it than me anyway, I think."

The casual tone seemed off and Arthur immediately prickled. "Mr. C," he began. "I know that most of the audience will be expecting Alfred to sing that number. We should give the people what they want."

"Nonsense," the cheerful teacher replied obliviously. "Alfred doesn't have a problem with it and I think this will even out the songs a bit."

"Yeah Artie—now you've actually _got_ a song," Alfred whispered. His voice tinted with a bit of malice.

Arthur scowled. What the fuck was Antonio playing at? This was just going to make everything worse! "If you think that's best Antonio," Arthur's voice was prim, but he made sure to sneer on his teacher's name—not that said teacher would notice; and he didn't.

"Perfect!" the drama instructor called out. "So I need all the boys up on the stage and Anya, darling, will you run them through the number a few times?"

"Of course, Mr. Carriedo," the blonde beauty, who was playing Cha Cha, stood and made her way gracefully to the stage.

Mr. Carriedo sent the girls off to get measurements from the strange Polish boy who did costuming while the boys were left under the mercy of Anya Braginski. The Russian girl was definitely something to look at, but she was an absolute terror when it came to teaching dance. There was not much that Anya took as seriously as dancing. Arthur was actually a bit nervous. He had been trained by Anya before; this was going to be rough. Natalia sent him a sympathetic smile as she left the auditorium.

"Okay boys," she began clapping her hands together. "I will show you the dance. You will watch. You will remember what I showed you and then do it." The boys shuffled anxiously. "And I don't like mistakes."

Anya cleared a space on the stage and pointed to Roderich saying, "Don't fuck it up sissy boy." Roderich let out a long-suffering sigh and began the play the music.

Alfred narrowed his eyes at her comment but didn't say anything. Arthur managed to not roll his own; but it was difficult.

As the music began, Anya put herself into the starting pose and then started to dance. It was fast and lively and Arthur had to admit would look spectacular when put together with the lights and set design—as long as they could actually manage to do the dance without Anya killing them. When she finished, she spun around and pointed at six of the boys, including Arthur and Alfred and barked out, "You, up front now!" Pointing vaguely toward the remaining young men, she continued with, "The rest of you, find a place near the back so I don't have to see your faces contort with pain."

Standing before them with her arms crossed, Anya again nodded toward the piano player and Roderich began the music for the first of many times that night. As the evening wore on, the boys trudged through the dance steps as best as they could. Her snarky comments and brutal precision was enough to send the boys over the edge.

"Now I know most of you like the other boys so we are going to practice being man men. All of you, reach down, grab onto your balls. You do have balls right? Good. I will allow you to remind yourself that you are a man, not a fairy, one last time. The next time I will remind you won't be pretty. Again from the top!"

"Alfred if you mess up the Releve this time, so help me god I will end you! Again!"

"This is a disaster! I said kick left on the turn and now you're all fucked up! Alfred, at least lie to us and make us think you know something about owning a muscle car, I'm just glad you're not singing this as well. Again!"

Surprisingly, Alfred wasn't doing as bad as some of the boys in the chorus, but he kept getting the brunt of Anya's anger. Arthur was grateful for that.

"Danny Zuko was not played by Debbie Reynolds in the original Broadway production—keep your tits to yourself!" Anya snapped at Alfred as he crashed into Arthur with his chest.

"Look, I'm trying," came the retort.

"Not hard enough," the Russian girl spat. "You look like a flailing circus bear, which is angering me. I know that you are more coordinated than this—or do I need to put a stupid basketball in your oversized hands to make you move like a graceful being?"

Alfred didn't seem to have a comeback for that, he had exhausted them all earlier in the evening. They had been dancing for two hours already and the girls had returned with their measurements done and were now watching the slaughter of Anya teaching dance and all silently thanking god that they were not the ones on the stage.

"Whatever, commie bitch," he finally said in a low growl.

"What was that?" Anya's voice was deadly.

"You heard me."

The silence in the auditorium was thick with concern and anticipation. It seemed as though the two may actually come to blows when the door to the theatre was opened and Mr. Carriedo stepped through saying cheerfully, "How's it going Anya? Do we have a spectacular scene to show me?"

Anya sent one more glare toward Alfred and then turned toward Mr. Carried, spinning on one toe. "I can't teach them. This one," she pointed toward Alfred, "is an uncoordinated buffoon. He's useless."

Alfred bristled and took a step toward the Russian girl mumbling something under his breath. Arthur grasped his hand around the other teen's impressive bicep and pulled slightly, bringing Alfred back into the moment. "Calm down," Arthur whispered. "You don't want to fight a girl, do you?" Alfred relaxed at that; he liked to think of himself as a heroic boy and heroes didn't hit women. No matter if they were Anya Braginski or not.

"I'm sure he's wonderful!" Antonio chirped, completely ignoring Anya's assessment and Alfred's anger. "Come on boys, let's see it!"

Anya nodded once, her mouth set in a straight line of displeasure. "Fine. Boys, to your positions, don't fuck it up."

"Language!" sang Antonio.

"Do it better this time," Anya amended and began clapping off the beats with a "Five, six, seven, eight."

When they finished, the girls and Mr. Carriedo clapped enthusiastically, while Anya pursed her lips, but refrained from saying anything. The boys, drenched in sweat, limped toward their bags as Mr. Carriedo called for the end of rehearsal.

Turning toward Arthur as he reached for his backpack, Alfred looked at the smaller boy and grinned. "Well Artie," Alfred breathed out heavily. "I think I've found someone I hate more than you."

* * *

Alfred dragged himself home that night regretting that he ever joined the Drama Club. The brutal rehearsal with Anya was by far worse than anything that had happened so far—and that was saying something. Skipping dinner, he took a shower and didn't even have the energy to jerk off, which was a first. Collapsing on his bed, wet hair splayed out on the pillow, Alfred could feel his eyelids pull shut and he lost himself to oblivion.

The dream was one that he had endured many times before.

Arthur was standing at the foot of his bed, shirtless and glancing shyly over his shoulder. His green eyes piercing into Alfred's as he whispered, "I need you Al." The taller boy shivered at the words. He'd waited so long to hear them and now it was happening. Arthur turned and faced him, the pale skin of his chest practically glowing in the moonlight.

"Alfred," the English boy's voice was husky. "Make me yours."

Alfred nodded silently and gasped as Arthur began to crawl over the bed on top of him. Their chests brushed lightly and the American groaned. He could feel Arthur's hardness rubbing against his thigh. Arthur lowered his face to Alfred's and the moment their lips brushed, Alfred woke up.

He was hard and sweaty and visibly shaking. This thing he had for Arthur was never going to go away. He had to do something. One kiss. That was really all he needed. He had to find a way to make Arthur Kirkland his—if only for a moment.

* * *

The library was relatively quiet, as it should be. Arthur arrived for his daily shift as the library's student aide and found himself a little wary. Alfred would be there again today. The American boy only had three more days of his in-school suspension and Arthur was counting them down. The sooner that Jones was out of his library, the better.

Setting down his messenger bag behind the desk, Arthur began to check in the books to be returned. It was calming work, and as soon as he was finished with it, he could begin to go over his lines—and everyone else's. The English boy prided himself on knowing each show backwards and forwards so that he was always prepared in case someone flubbed. So far he had most of his own lines down pat, as well as Sandy's and Rizzo's, from running lines with Elizabeta and Natalia. That was a good start for the first week of rehearsals.

Stacking the returned books onto a rolling cart, he began to wander up and down the aisles, re-shelving when he came across the proper space. As he went to return a rather large history tome, he glanced through the stacks and saw Alfred seated at a table, hunched over and scribbling furiously. Allowing himself a moment to ponder what might have been, Arthur gazed through the books at the object of his desire.

Jones' shoulders were bunched and pulling at the thin fabric of his white undershirt—the school's required uniform jacket tossed haphazardly on the chair next to him. Arthur swallowed thickly, watching the muscles of the American move as he continued to write. Suddenly, Jones sat up and without turning around said, "Hey Artie."

Arthur sputtered. His face flushed at being caught. Alfred turned around in his chair and smiled at the embarrassed English boy. "Whatcha doing?"

"I'm, um, I'm," Arthur stuttered. "I'm re-shelving books!"

"Looks like your spying on me," Alfred grinned teasingly.

Arthur's face went even brighter. "I am doing no such thing Jones!"

"Checking to make sure I'm not goofing off during suspension?"

"I'm doing my job," Arthur insisted. He turned his little rolling cart and started back down the aisle. "And I'm not paying attention to you at all Jones!" He called over his shoulder.

Alfred chuckled. The sound followed Arthur back to the circulation desk and haunted him for the rest of the day.

* * *

That afternoon, Matthew walked into the basement rec room of his house to find his brother and Gilbert with an open year book, some sharpie markers, a few cans of beer, and a bottle of Nair for some reason.

"What the fuck is going on down here?"

"Oh hey, Mattie, come on down," Alfred motioned toward his brother.

"Yeah Birdie," Gilbert leered. "Come on…down."

"Don't be gross to my brother in front of me dude," Alfred playfully smacked his friend on the arm.

Taking a seat on the arm of Gilbert's chair, Matthew grabbed one of the unopened beers and cracked it open, taking a long swig. "What's going on here?" he repeated quietly.

"We're just plotting an awesome revenge on Douchey Eyebrows and the Fag Hags," Gilbert smirked.

"What?"

"Yeah," Alfred chirped. "We're going to prank them back for what they did to me. And then maybe we'll be even."

"You can't do that," Matthew tried.

"Why not?" Gilbert's red eyes narrowed a bit as his eyebrow rose in confusion. "Look what they did to your brother."

Matthew looked at Alfred who made puppy dog eyes.

"They hazed him and now he's in deep shit with coach and Mr. T," Gilbert's arms began to wave wildly. "They deserve this!"

"You mean _we_ , don't you?" Matthew snapped. "Because in case you forgot, I'm a member of the Drama Club too."

Alfred leaned forward, "We're not gonna do anything to you Mattie."

"It doesn't matter Al," Matthew said with exasperation. "Anything you do to retaliate is just going to escalate into all-out war. Remember last year?" Matthew hated bringing up the long-standing feud between the theatre department and the basketball team but he was trying to make a valid and serious point. "Nat broke her arm because you guys were 'playing a trick.'"

"Okay, hey," Gilbert pointed a finger at his new boyfriend. "That was not us."

"It was _someone_ on the basketball team," Matthew insisted. "Everyone knows it. If you guys do this," Matthew poked at the bottle of Nair with his foot. "Something bad is going to happen."

"But—"

"This has gone on long enough!" Matthew shouted. "I know you're pissed Al," he started. "But Arthur is sorry, you weren't expelled and it's time to bury the hatchet. I'm not going to spend the rest of the year with my brother declaring war against the only outlet I have."

"Come on Mattie," Al began. "You have other outlets besides drama."

"Oh yeah, what?"

"You play hockey," Alfred offered.

"For fun, in a rec league," Matthew said blandly. "I don't go to school with those guys, I don't have to see the damage every day."

"Is that why you're such a fucking terror with them?" Gilbert piped up.

"Yes," Matthew hissed. "If I break one of their noses they don't go crying about it and trying to get vengeance. They act like grown men."

"I'm a grown man," Alfred huffed.

Gilbert laughed, "Actually, you're still a few months away from eighteen little one."

"Shut up!"

"You're a giant baby Al," Matthew pointed at his brother. "Just accept Arthur's apology and forgive him, or don't. But don't run around plotting revenge on a group of uppity, socially challenged theatre nerds because you were stupid enough to accept alcohol on school property."

Alfred and Gilbert were silent.

"You knew that it was wrong, and you did it anyway," Matthew stated. "I think everyone is a little bit to blame for this entire fiasco."

Alfred and Gilbert shuffled uncomfortably.

"What were you going to do to them anyway?"

Again, the two boys in front of Matthew toed the floor and shrugged. "We were going to put Nair in their gym shampoo bottles," Gilbert finally confessed.

There was a full minute of silence before Matthew burst out laughing. "Well, that would have went over like a lead balloon." He began to brush away imaginary tears as he cackled. The other two boys started to laugh as well. "I would have given anything to see those three with no hair! Especially Arthur with no eyebrows!"

"We can still do it," Gilbert offered.

"No," came the double response from the brothers.

Alfred sighed. "Mattie's right."

"Of course I'm right."

Nodding, Alfred managed a small smile. "I have to accept that I played a part here too. I'll talk to Arthur tomorrow."

"Good," Matthew said firmly. "Now, if you'll excuse us Alfred, we are going to be busy for a while."

Alfred stared dumbly as he was ushered out of the basement rec room with the door slammed in his face. Man, it wasn't fair that Mattie was getting lucky when all Alfred had was thoughts of Arthur and his hand. His brother had all the luck.

* * *

The next day, Alfred trudged into the library. In-school suspension sucked! He was running out of things to do. He'd caught up on all his homework, and even written a history essay that wasn't due for another three weeks. On the plus side, he had discovered that the library carried some comic books and he got to see Arthur for two straight hours every day. He was still laughing about catching the other student watching him the day before. That was cute. Maybe he had a shot after all.

The handsome American dragged through most of the day, counting down the minutes until Arthur would appear. The time seemed to pass incredibly slowly, which wasn't surprising since he was at school. Precisely five minutes after the last lunch bell, Arthur entered the library. Alfred tried his hardest to look busy and not like he was watching the lithe young man. It was much harder than he thought. In more ways than one.

Finally steeling his courage, Alfred gathered his things and approached the circulation desk where Arthur was lounging. "Hey Artie."

"It's Arthur," the English boy ground out. "It isn't that hard to say Jones."

"It's Alfred," the American boy insisted. "You always use my last name."

"Keeps it more impersonal Jones." Arthur shifted in his chair. "What do you want?"

Alfred bounced on his feet and looked at the ground. "I was wondering if you might wanna run lines with me?"

Arthur's first thought was to blow off the handsome jock, but he recognized the benefit to running lines with another person and he wanted this show to be spectacular. They were both there, and bored after all. "Fine," Arthur snapped out. "But no funny business and no calling me Artie."

"You got it!" Alfred's grin stretched wider than he thought possible. He was finally getting some one on one time with the gorgeous Brit. This day couldn't get much better.

* * *

Unfortunately, Alfred was mistaken. That night's rehearsal brought with it another blow in the form of Mr. Carriedo. No one ever expected the worst from the cheerful Spaniard, but every once in a while they were surprised.

The rehearsal had went as they had been, everyone learning dance routines and getting their asses handed to them by Anya, but after Mr. Carriedo had called an end to rehearsal, the blow came.

The other students were packing up their things when Antonio cheerfully called out, "Alfred, Arthur, could you please stay after a moment."

The boys looked warily at one another before nodding.

Once the auditorium was cleared out, Mr. Carriedo, motioned for them to follow him to his office. The two boys packed themselves in as Antonio shut the door behind them and offered each a can of V8, which was declined.

"I'm sure that you're wondering what I wanted to talk to you about," Antonio began happily. When he received no response, he continued. "It's very simple," the drama instructor cracked open his own can of V8. "You two are supposed to be best friends in this show. The very best of friends."

"Danny and Kenickie?" Alfred said with a confused look.

"Yes!" Antonio took a sip of his drink. "You're supposed to be BFFs—that's what you kids say, yes? And the sad thing is that I feel as though you can't stand to be around each other."

The boys remained silent, but each slid a glance at the other.

"So sad," Mr. Carriedo continued. "This show really needs the extra punch so that the audience believes that you two would fix up a car together and hunt down some pretty girls."

"Doubtful," Arthur grumbled under his breath.

"Okay," Antonio acquiesced. "Pretty boys then."

"What?" Alfred said. He wasn't in the closet by any means, but he thought he played it pretty straight—especially since he played for both teams.

"You know how it is in the theatre boys, gay until proven straight." Mr Carriedo laughed good-naturedly.

"But—" Alfred began.

"That's not what we are here for, you're absolutely right Alfred," Mr. Carriedo cut him off. "The point is, you two need to seem like you have an inseparable bond—and I just don't see it."

"That's probably because we aren't BFFs, as you say, Antonio," Arthur snarked.

"Well that has to change," the drama teacher sat up in his chair. "I want you two to go out and do things together. Outside of school. Just like you're real friends—who knows, maybe you'll realize that you work well together."

Alfred looked dumbfounded and Arthur immediately stated, "I don't think that's necessary."

"Well," Antonio replied. "It's a good thing that I'm the director then. I _do_ think its necessary."

"So," Alfred cleared his throat. "You want us to hang out together and become friends?"

"Precisely," Antonio chirped. "As of right now, the two of you are best friends—and I don't want any excuses."


	7. Bosom Buddies

**Chapter Seven: Bosom Buddies**

_"Acting is behaving truthfully under imaginary circumstances."_  
-Sanford Meisner

Alfred thought long and hard about what the two boys could do outside of school together. On the surface, they didn't seem to have much in common with their respective interests. However, after long debate, Alfred decided on the perfect outing—mini golf. Everyone loved mini golf; at least everyone that Alfred knew anyway.

That afternoon in the library, Alfred approached Arthur and invited him to hang out. He specifically didn't say what they were going to do, much to Arthur's annoyance. Alfred simply told him it was casual and fun and he would pick him up at five. It took a good chunk of time for Alfred to wean the Brit's address from him, but eventually Arthur gave in. After a long sigh, the English boy acquiesced. After all, they were under orders. How bad could it be?

That evening, at precisely seven minutes past five, Alfred pulled up in front of Arthur's house. He had been surprised that they lived so close together, as he never saw Arthur outside of school. They were only a few streets apart. Attempting to calm his nerves, Alfred blew out a few deep breaths like Gilbert had taught him to do on the free-throw line, and steeled himself to get out of the car. Walking to the front door, Alfred noticed how quiet the house seemed. It was as if no one was living there. He rang the bell a few times more than necessary and waited. When the door swung open revealing a trouser and sweater-vest clad Arthur, Alfred laughed out loud and said, "Dude, I told you it was casual."

"This _is_ casual," Arthur insisted vehemently. "You're almost ten minutes late. I considered cancelling."

Alfred snorted. "I'm not that late. You're too much of a perfectionist Artie. Besides," the American boy continued. "You can't cancel on me. We have to hang out together—Carriedo's orders."

"Don't remind me," Arthur sulked. "Well," he said, stepping out of the house and locking up. "Where are you taking me? Somewhere ghastly I presume."

"Try somewhere _awesome_!" Alfred crowed. "Come on, get in the car, I'll show you."

Arthur reluctantly followed the other boy to his vehicle and climbed in the passenger seat with trepidation. "You really can't tell me where we are going?"

"Nope, that takes away all the fun."

"All the fun of what," Arthur buckled himself in.

"All the fun of watching you squirm Artie," came the reply, complete with a wink.

What in the world was Alfred playing at? This whole situation was almost unbearable for Arthur and he couldn't figure out what the American's angle was—acting as though this was an incredibly fun date idea. Date. Why had that popped into Arthur's mind? This wasn't a date—no matter how much he wished that it was. The grumpy Brit decided to continue with his current demeanor in order to push such thoughts away. There was no way that he was going to have fun with Alfred F. Jones on their not-date.

Alfred kept up a steady chatter on the entire drive, and based on the turns and streets being driven, Arthur still couldn't figure out where they were headed. Alfred had said casual and Mr. Carriedo was pushing them to be friends, not boyfriends, so Arthur's mind was a complete blur as he mentally tried to both listen to the endless chatter of the happy American and decipher where they were going.

Within a few minutes, Alfred pulled his car into the largely empty parking lot of the local Fun Plex. Why on earth were they here?

"If you think I'm going to play laser tag with you, you're out of your mind," Arthur remarked as they exited the car.

"Aw man," Alfred groaned. "Laser tag would have been awesome! I forgot they had that here." Arthur quirked a large eyebrow at the statement. Alfred continued, "Nah, I thought we could play some mini golf—isn't golf considered a dignified sport?"

"Says the boy with the best handicap on the golf team," Arthur replied. "Fine, I will entertain the notion of playing…mini golf…with you." He said 'mini golf' like it was something disgusting that you wouldn't want to step in.

The boys entered the mini golf arena and Alfred insisted on paying for their round, which brought Arthur's mind back to the idea of a date. The English boy quickly shook his head to clear his mind of the notion.

"You okay Artie," Alfred grinned at the shorter boy.

"Of course Jones," Arthur replied smoothly. "Are you prepared to lose?"

"Lose?" Alfred chuckled. He had specifically chosen something that he knew he would win, but that Arthur may still enjoy. "I doubt that Kirkland," he used the other boy's surname as a challenge.

"I wager my handicap is better than yours Jones," Arthur smirked.

"Let's make it interesting then. A bet," Alfred tossed his golf ball in the air. "Winner names terms."

"Anything?" Arthur's eyebrows went up.

"Anything at all. Makes it more fun," Alfred smiled.

"You're on Jones."

So began the most competitive game of mini golf that the Fun Plex had ever seen. The boys played their very best and weren't holding back on the insults and taunting. After Arthur had sunk his third hole in one in a row, Alfred began to get a bit nervous.

"I think you may have played me Artie," he said casually.

Arthur was busy lining up his putt as he replied. "Perhaps." He then locked eyes with Alfred and shot without looking. The ball headed straight for the hole and plunked in. Four hole in ones in a row.

"Nice shot."

"Thank you."

"I still think you're hustling me somehow," Alfred grinned as he went to take his own shot.

"That is probably very true," Arthur said smugly. "My brother Scot taught me to play."

"Scot…Kirkland? Scot Kirkland!" Alfred flubbed his shot, ringing the hole. "Your brother is Scot Kirkland the pro golfer?"

Arthur smiled. "Yes."

"Oh, it is on!" Alfred shouted good-naturedly.

The boys continued playing, taunting each other whenever it wasn't their turn, and concentrating intensely whenever it was. The time seemed to fly by and both boys were surprised at the fact that they were actually having fun together. By the last hole, the score was tied and it was Arthur's turn. He approached his ball and grit his teeth, determined to make another hole in one, so that his chances of winning were even higher. He couldn't face losing to Jones—who knows what the other boy would demand for his reward?

Lining up his putt, he was concentrating as hard as he could, when a high pitched whistle rang out followed by a "Looking good in those pants Artie!"

His stroke nicked the corner of the ball and it spun off course, away from the hole. Turning around furiously, he glared at Alfred, "What in the world was that?"

"Nothing," Alfred tried to look innocent. "Just thought you should know how hot you look in those pants."

Sputtering angrily, Arthur watched as Alfred lined up his shot and easily sunk the last hole in one putt. "Well," Alfred leaned on his putter. "Looks like I win."

"By one stroke," Arthur pointed out.

"Yeah, you played a good game Kirkland." Alfred smiled wide. "But rules say that I still get to name the terms of my victory."

"Yes, yes," Arthur said impatiently. "What do you want? An English paper written?"

"Nope," Alfred grinned and stepped closer. "You already tried to apologize to me and let's say that I forgive you. I don't trust you, but I forgive you."

"So you don't want another apology then," Arthur's eyes met Alfred's as the American boy took another step toward him.

"No," Alfred's voice had dropped. They were mere inches apart now. Alfred took a deep breath as though steeling himself for something and said, "I want a kiss."

Arthur's heart stopped. At least, he thought it did. Was he still breathing? Who knew. The English boy met Alfred's gaze and whispered. "From me?"

"Yes," Alfred's voice was husky and nervous. "I want a kiss from you."

Arthur gulped audibly. He didn't know how to respond. All he could think was that Alfred wanted to kiss him. _Alfred_! This was better than anything he could have hoped for. All was forgiven and the boy of his dreams wanted a kiss.

"So, what do you say Arthur?" Alfred sounded almost terrified. It must have taken immense courage to even ask for the kiss in the first place. "I won the game and I say you owe me one kiss, is that okay?"

"It's more than okay," Arthur's own voice had dropped to a mere whisper.

Alfred closed the small gap between them and slid his arm around Arthur's waist, pulling the smaller boy towards him. Arthur could feel the heat of Alfred's breath as the American leaned in, their lips getting closer and closer. Both of their hearts were pounding so loud it seemed a miracle that no one else could hear the thump thump thump of nervous teenaged heartbeats. Their lips brushed lightly, almost chaste. There was a zing of electricity that passed between them. They had barely even made contact when a voice called out, "Hey, no PDA at the Fun Plex!"

The two boys jerked apart as though they had been shocked and turned to see the tall girl in a Fun Plex uniform shaking her finger at them. "There's kids here; they don't need to see anyone sucking face—get a room!"

Arthur blushed brilliantly and Alfred's cheeks reddened a bit as well. "Sorry," both boys mumbled. After the employee had left, they looked at each other sheepishly. "I guess we should go," Arthur muttered.

"Yeah," Alfred agreed.

They returned their clubs, red-faced and not looking at one another until they were once again seated in Alfred's car. The dim lights of the parking lot illuminated almost nothing allowing the two boys to sit quietly without being observed. A few minutes past of awkward silence in which both boys kept looking out their respective windows, lost in thought.

However, almost immediately, Arthur launched himself across the seat and into Alfred's lap. Their lips met fiercely and their teeth clashed together as Arthur swept his tongue over Alfred's lips and moaned. Alfred responded by pressing his tongue into Arthur's eager mouth and exploring every inch of it. Hands flew and groped, fingers carded through hair, and the windows of Alfred's car steamed up within seconds.

Pulling back abruptly, Arthur pulled himself back into his own seat and said, "I do apologize, that was rude of me."

"Rude," Alfred was dazed, his glasses sitting haphazardly on his nose. "That wasn't rude, trust me—that was fucking fantastic!"

Arthur allowed the ghost of a smile to cross his features, "It was rather amazing wasn't it?"

"You definitely held up your end of the bargin," Alfred agreed.

"Perhaps, we could…try it again sometime," Arthur suggested nonchalantly.

"Definitely."

Alfred drove Arthur home where they engaged in a few more kisses in front of the English boy's house before he drove away, the biggest smile in the world plastered on the American's features.

* * *

 

The next day in the library, they spent the entire two hours of Arthur's shift hidden amongst the stacks and making out.


	8. That's Entertainment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Some NSFW Prucan sexiness is happening in this chapter. Nothing too graphic.

**Chapter Eight: That's Entertainment**

_"Directing teenage actors is like juggling jars of nitro-glycerine: exhilarating and dangerous." –Stephen King, 11/22/63_

Rehearsals were going steadily, and Arthur and Alfred's closeness was growing. A fact not unnoticed by their friends or Mr. Carriedo, (who was incredibly pleased at the development.) The boys were spending almost every afternoon together, mostly running lines, but occasionally going on a random adventure that would usually delight Alfred and irk Arthur. Alfred was even beginning to wear Arthur down on the idea of laser tag. Arthur was steadily surprised at the other boy's determination to rehearse and make sure that the part of Danny Zuko was done justice. Almost every encounter was ending with some heated kisses and Arthur had no complaints save one.

He was still harboring guilt over what he and his friends had done to Alfred.

The pain was gnawing away at him no matter what he did or said, or how sweetly Alfred kissed him. On top of that, Arthur wasn't sure what their status was exactly, and in the back of his mind, he still wondered if Alfred wasn't playing a cruel trick of his own.

Which was why, roughly a week after the kissing had started, Arthur found himself alone with Alfred after school and very apprehensive.

"What's the matter Artie," Alfred pointed out. "You seem kinda tense." The boys in were in one of the choir practice rooms listening to instrumental versions of the show's songs in order to get their notes down since Roderich wasn't available that evening. It was just the two of them. And Arthur's heart had been pounding since the door had closed, sealing them into the acoustic space.

"It's nothing," Arthur managed to stammer out. "You're having trouble with this part again, we should run it once more." The British boy pointed to a section of libretto and waved it at Alfred.

"It's not nothing," Alfred pouted. "You won't even look at me tonight. What's going on?"

"Nothing Jones," Arthur snapped peevishly.

"Jeez, fine," Alfred hung his head and puffed out his cheeks. "Sorry I was concerned about you."

"There isn't anything to be concerned about," Arthur's voice went up a little, "is there?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Alfred cocked his head, looking confused.

Arthur huffed and snapped the libretto book shut. "This," he gestured between them. "Us. There isn't anything I should be concerned about, right?"

"I don't understand where you're—"

"You and I, Jones," Arthur cut off the other boy quickly. "This isn't some practical joke to you is it? Just playing around in order to what? Dump me on opening night?"

"Dump you?" Alfred's face was beginning to pink up. "Who said anything about dumping you? We haven't even talked about dating, we're just having fun right now," Alfred trailed off. "Right?"

"Of course." Arthur's tone was clipped. "Just fun."

"Besides," Alfred said rather cruelly, "You're more the one for practical jokes aren't you?"

"I apologized!"

"I know you did."

"And you said that you didn't want me to apologize anymore," Arthur cried. "You said you just wanted a kiss and that all was forgiven."

"I also said I didn't trust you Artie," Alfred leaned back in his chair. "Why am I the one getting the third degree when I'm not the untrustworthy one in this room?"

Arthur sputtered. "I'm just trying to protect myself here Jones!"

"It's Alfred! Al-fred. Alfred. Stop using my last name to make it 'impersonal,'" Alfred shot back.

"Fine," Arthur huffed. "Alfred. Alfred, I'm trying to make sure that you and I and the kissing isn't some big hoax in order to humiliate and hurt me the way that I did to you."

Alfred took a beat long enough to make the English boy sweat. "I'm not big on revenge Arthur. Not my style, I guess."

"So this is," Arthur shrugged. "What? What is this?"

"This," Alfred grinned. "This is fun. It's fun kissing you. I really like you Arthur Kirkland. I have for a long time."

"So you claim."

"It's not a claim, it's the truth." Alfred stood up from his chair and crossed the tiny box of a room to stand in front of Arthur. "I really like you a lot."

"I," Arthur began. "I like you too Jones."

"Alfred."

"I like you too Alfred."

Lowering his head to meet the feisty Englishman, Alfred brushed his lips against Arthur's warm mouth. It was only a moment before Arthur allowed entrance and brushed their tongues together. Alfred moaned and deepened the kiss, wrapping his muscular arms around Arthur's trim waist. Pulling the smaller boy closer, Alfred tightened his grip on Arthur's sides and let out a breathy sigh. Alfred ground his hips against Arthur's causing the English boy to groan and respond in kind. Their arousals were pressed against one another and Arthur could hardly believe that he was practically dry humping Jones in public. Not that the choir practice room was exactly public. They were the only ones there. _'Still,'_ Arthur thought, _'it's rather risqué and exciting.'_

The boys moved together, grinding against one another, their mouths meeting in clashes and soft bites. Alfred was so hard, he didn't think he could last much longer and he really didn't want to cream his jeans...again. Pulling back, Alfred put some space between them, but kept his lips firmly in place on Arthur's mouth.

After a moment, Alfred broke the kiss. He kept his gaze firmly on Arthur's face, which was pink and perfect, the English boy's eyes closed, and his breath coming in soft pants. "We can talk about dating if you want," Alfred whispered.

Arthur opened his eyes, and blue met green. "What do you mean?"

"Well," Alfred began. "We could talk about it. Do you want to date me?"

"You mean exclusively, publicly," Arthur said. "Be your boyfriend?"

Alfred leaned his head down for another kiss, this one soft and chaste. "Yeah, like do you wanna be my boyfriend?"

Arthur flushed even deeper and cleared his throat. "Um, yes," he stammered. "I would like that very much Jones."

"Alfred."

"Alfred." The English boy corrected. "I would like to be your boyfriend."

Alfred whooped and punched a fist into the air in a display of happiness and immaturity. Arthur rolled his eyes, but smiled softly. Their lips met again, this time crashing against one another in a fierce dance. Hands wandered along the soft planes of skin and fingers gripped into one another's hair.

After a moment, Arthur was the one to pull away, very reluctantly. "We should get back to rehearsal," he whispered.

"Awe," Alfred groaned against Arthur's cheek. "I don't wanna. I wanna stay here and make out with my new boyfriend."

Arthur blushed at the term. "Regardless," he let his arms drop and took a step away from Alfred. "We really should be getting back. They'll wonder where we are—we said we'd be gone for a half hour and its already forty minutes past."

"Fine," Alfred grumbled. "But I get one more kiss."

The taller boy's adorable pout sent a shiver straight down Arthur's spine and rested comfortably in his belly. "Fine, you git," the English boy leaned in and pressed a soft peck on Alfred's lips.

Alfred grinned.

* * *

 

Gilbert leaned back in the rolling chair watching the rehearsals with little interest. He and Matthew were in the lighting booth, Matthew trying to set some light cues on his laptop and Gilbert goofing off, touching things he wasn't supposed to.

"Gil will you hand me that notebook," Matthew gestured vaguely with his arm, not looking up from the computer.

"Sure thing Birdie," Gilbert threw the notebook in the general vicinity of Matthew while rubbing his eyes. "How much longer do we have to stay up here?" The albino boy was getting bored.

"Until the end of rehearsal."

"Which is when?"

Matthew sighed. "About another hour, why?"

"Because I'm bored and I can think of better things to do with our time than working."

"You're not working Gil," Matthew pointed out. "You're bothering me. That isn't working."

"It is so working!" Gilbert pretended to sound affronted. "I am working very hard at bothering and distracting you!"

"You're doing a wonderful job," Matthew smiled at his boyfriend. "I don't know how I ever got my work done before without your distractions."

"See," Gilbert smirked leaning further back on the chair. "I'm awesome and helpful."

Matthew chuckled. He turned his attention back to his laptop and began to set the cues for the finale. He worked for a solid minute before lips pressed firmly against his neck and strong pale hands came to rest on his shoulder.

"Birdie," Gilbert's breath whispered over Matthew's neck as the albino latched onto the hard working stage tech's soft neck. Sucking enough to leave a mark, Gilbert kept murmuring Matthew's name as he licked the other boy's neck and peppered it with soft kisses. "You know I'll leave you alone if you pay attention to me."

"Gil," Matthew's protest was weak. "I have work to do."

"Wrong," the German boy grinned against the hickey he was leaving on his boyfriend. "You have a hot boyfriend to do."

Matthew sighed. "Just—just let me finish this one scene. Please?"

His protests went on deaf ears. Gilbert pulled back for a moment and huffed. "Fine. I won't play with your neck anymore."

"Thank you." Matthew sighed, returning to his work.

A moment later, he felt a hand touch his thigh and looked down to find Gilbert under the desk, between his legs. "I said I'd stop playing with your neck Birdie," the albino grinned. "I didn't say I'd stop playing with anything else."

Gilbert gripped Matthew's crotch softly and began to rub against the fabric of the other teen's pants. Matthew's eyes almost rolled back in his head. It felt so good and he really shouldn't deny his boyfriend, despite the work. But Matthew was nothing if not dependable and he continued to type in lighting cues, even as Gilbert unzipped his jeans and slid a hand into the warmth of Matthew's pants.

Gilbert maneuvered his hand across Matthew's length and coaxed the other boy's rapidly hardening penis out of his boxers. Leaning forward to press a soft kiss to the tip, Gilbert then took all of Matthew in his mouth. The German boy continued to lick and suck on his boyfriend, even as said boyfriend continued to work, albiet with moans coming from his lips.

Even as he came in Gilbert's mouth, Matthew was still doing his duty and working studiously on the light cues.

* * *

 

Arthur and Alfred returned to rehearsal, trying to hide their flushed faces and wrinkled clothing. It didn't work. Everyone noticed, but no one said anything at first. Once they were settled in their seats, Alfred and Arthur didn't sit together, but they kept stealing glances.

Elizabeta sidled up to Arthur and sat next to him saying, "Guess you two were _practicing_ awfully hard in there."

"We were," Arthur replied trying to sound nonchalant.

"Why is your sweater vest untucked?" the persistent girl pried.

Arthur looked down and saw how untidy he looked, groaning in response. He hastily tucked himself back together in an attempt to look professional once more. "It was hot in the practice room."

"I'll bet it was," Elizabeta smirked. To her right, Natalia chuckled, overhearing their conversation.

Arthur flushed hotly and slid a glance at Alfred who grinned and waved at him. The bloody git wasn't even trying to be subtle.

"Okay," came the cheerful voice of Antonio Carriedo. "I want the T-Birds on stage to run through the 'Greased Lightning' number once more and then we'll call it a night."

Arthur sighed. He was getting tired of running that number over and over, but he knew that it had to be perfect. Especially since he was the one singing. Heaving himself out of the velvet auditorium seat, he made his way to the front of the house and pulled himself up onto the stage.

He was joined by almost every male member of the cast, save Francis, who wasn't even at this rehearsal. How that bloody frog managed to get cast as the Teen Angel, Arthur wouldn't never know. He was never around and when he was, he was completely obnoxious. Thinking about Francis would only send Arthur into a bad mood; so he turned his attention toward Alfred who had taken off his button down uniform shirt to display a rather nice set of pecs peeking out from under the boy's white cotton tee. Allowing himself a moment to drool over his new boyfriend's looks for a moment, caused Arthur to trip as his made his way to his beginning mark.

"You okay Artie," Alfred was instantly at his side, holding onto his elbow.

"I'm fine," Arthur said a bit peevishly. After all, it was Alfred's fault that he tripped. Damn that boy for looking so delicious.

Leaning down to whisper in his ear, Alfred said, "Don't worry Artie, the hero will always be there to save you." Then he wandered off back to his mark, leaving Arthur feeling lightheaded. How nice that sounded, Alfred always being there. Not that he needed saving mind you. It was still a lovely thought.

Once all the boys were on their marks, Antonio called out, "Okay, now wow me!" On the other end of the auditorium, Anya screamed out a "Five, six, seven, eight!" And the boys began to dance.

Arthur first heard the noise about halfway through the number. A slight creaking that could be heard over the music. He tried to pay attention to the song and his lyrics, but that creaking sound was becoming overpowering.

Suddenly from above a voice called out "Heads Up!" But no one seemed to hear, except Arthur. Glancing above him Arthur saw one of the stage lights ready to fall. On top of Alfred. He had just enough time to sprint to Alfred's side, and tackle the larger boy, both of them falling into a heap just as the light came crashing down, directly where Alfred had been standing.

Breaths came in heaving gasps and the entire auditorium was silent for a full minute. Suddenly, Matthew burst out of the lighting booth, with Gilbert hot on his trail.

"Al!" the normally quiet boy cried. No one seemed to notice that his pants were undone.

"Alfred," Arthur's soft accent came through, whispering gently to the shocked boy. "Love, are you all right?"

Blinking owlishly, Alfred simply stared at the shattered stage light and tried to even out his breaths.

"What the fuck was that!" Gilbert yelled standing behind Matthew.

"Language!" Antonio sing-songed. "But yes, what was that."

From up above a small voice said, "Sorry, I didn't realized it was loose."

Calling up towards the ceiling, Antonio actually yelled for once, "Christian! I have told you time and again that you are _never_ to be working up there while there are people on stage!"

"I'm so sorry," came the voice once more. Christian sounded apologetic for once.

"You better come down here and clean up this mess and apologize to Alfred," Antonio snapped. "We'll discuss your punishment with the headmaster tomorrow." Turning to the rest of the cast, Mr. Carriedo said, "I think we've done enough for tonight. Dismissed." He made his way over to Alfred and helped Gilbert lift the heavy boy to his feet. "Are you okay Alfred?"

"Yeah," the jock finally spoke. "That was…that was…" his voice trailed off as he looked behind him to see Arthur still on the ground. Reaching out his hand toward the English boy, Alfred grasped Arthur tightly and hauled him up to his feet. "You saved me Artie!"

Enveloping the shorter boy into a tight hug, the American squeezed his boyfriend as though his life depended on it, whispering "You saved me," over and over.

"It—it was nothing," Arthur stammered. "You would have done the same."

"Yeah, but I didn't know if you would," Alfred said truthfully. "Forget whatever I said about not trusting you!"

Arthur blushed. "I just didn't want to see you hurt."

"And I'm not, thanks to you!" Alfred was beaming. "Thank you so much Artie!"

And with that, Alfred F. Jones pulled Arthur Kirkland into a full-fledged kiss in front of everyone, and so that all could see. Dipping him low, Alfred hungrily devoured the English boy's lips, saying thank you in the best way that he knew how.


	9. The Gentleman is a Dope

**Chapter Nine: The Gentleman is a Dope**

_"The theater has never been any good since the actors became gentlemen."_  
~ W.H. Auden

"What the hell was that?" Elizabeta's voice hissed toward Arthur.

They were in their shared chemistry class, attempting to mix together the steps on the white board. Arthur didn't know what they were supposed to be making and he didn't care.

"What was what?" he asked blandly.

"Last night at rehearsal," Elizabeta explained. "You and Jones. That kiss?"

Arthur blushed a brilliant shade of red. "That was nothing. He just got carried away."

"After you saved him from that light," Elizabeta sighed. "It was so romantic!"

"What?" Arthur coughed. "No…it was just Jones being ridiculous. It was not romantic."

Elizabeta huffed. "Say what you will Arthur," she said. "But you two broke every girl's heart last night.

"We did no such thing!" Arthur insisted.

"Yes you did," Elizabeta shot back at him. "I have to admit, even _I_ was hoping that one of you was at least a little bit straight. Nat was disappointed of course, and all those freshmen girls who come to rehearsals to watch you—crushed!" She chuckled a little at that.

"I fail to see why I am such a heartbreaker." Arthur said drolly.

"Because everyone wants you, you dolt!" Elizabeta chided. "Those eyes, that accent!" She sighed. "Especially that idiot Jones; did you see his face? He wanted to do much more than kiss you, I'll bet my lucky hair clip on it."

"I'm not talking about this anymore," Arthur spat. "Now hand me that vial."

Elizabeta handed the chemical to him, still moony eyed. "I've gotta tell you though Kirkland—that was one hell of a kiss."

Arthur privately agreed. It had been absolutely amazing.

* * *

Alfred had woken up that morning walking on air. He was beyond elated. Arthur Kirkland was finally his boyfriend and nothing was going to rain on his parade. Cue Gilbert Beilschmidt starring as thundercloud.

In the locker room after their morning practice, Gilbert cornered Alfred as the American was leaving the showers. His line of questioning was similar to Elizabeta's.

"What's with the kissing?"

"What?" Alfred was confused. "What kissing?"

"The kissing last night. When you were sucking face with that prissy scumbag, Kirkland." Gilbert's smile was more of a sneer.

"Don't call him that!" Alfred spat. "He's not a scumbag, he's my boyfriend."

Gilbert gaped. "Your _what_? Your boyfriend? Are you fucking joking?"

"It's not a joke." Alfred glared.

"When the fuck did this happen? Last I knew, we hated the guy."

"Well," Alfred tried to explain. "Things happened and we don't hate him now."

"Well I'll be damned." Gilbert looked shocked.

Alfred started to blush. "In fact," he began. "We might…love…him."

"Dude," Gilbert cried. "You can't fall in love in high school! The goal was to pop your cherry, not have you mooning away over some uppity Brit."

"What do you mean, you can't fall in love in high school," Alfred shot back. "You're dating my brother—I don't want to think about him throwing away his V Card just because some random guy wants a good time."

"Mattie and I are different," Gilbert insisted. "We care about each other, but I doubt very much that your brother is in love with me."

"Do you love him?" Alfred questioned.

"I," Gilbert's cheeks began to pink. "I like him a lot."

"Dude," Alfred said. "It's my brother. My twin brother."

"I'm not gonna say something unawesome like love, okay?" Gilbert stammered. "But I like him. Like, a lot. Maybe someday I'll be able to say it. But not now, so stop pushing."

"Fine."

"Fine."

The moment stretched between the boys as they stared at one another before Gilbert turned away and walked to his own gym locker. The boys dressed in silence.

* * *

After school, Alfred invited Arthur over to his house to run lines before their rehearsal that night. He meant it sincerely that they were to run lines, however, Alfred was hoping that in the privacy of his basement rec room, maybe more kisses would be in order. He was not disappointed.

The boys were laying down on the couch, Alfred covering Arthur with his body. Arthur's hands were carding through Alfred's hair, and their mouths were clashing together in a frenzied heat. Arthur's uniform shirt was unbuttoned and Alfred's was completely off. The boy's mouths met in hurried kisses, as though they didn't have enough time to enjoy the feeling of lips sliding along one another. Which, with their healthy teenaged libidos, was probably true.

Alfred slid one hand up Arthur's chest and ground his hips down onto the other boy, soliciting a moan from the Englishman. Arthur thrust his hips upwards against Alfred and could feel the other boy's arousal. They were both hard, just from this quick make out session. Arthur wondered vaguely how much hotter sex would be since they were both so attracted to one another. He'd only had sex once before and it was completely ungratifying. He had felt dirty and sordid afterwards, and never mentioned to anyone. Not even Natalia or Elizabeta. Pushing such thoughts from his mind, Arthur concentrated all his thoughts on the boy presently on top of him.

Opening his mouth wider, Arthur allowed Alfred to delve with his tongue, pressing back against him with his own. Nipping at Alfred's lower lip gained him a hearty moan from the larger boy which spurred him to try pressing kisses to other parts of Alfred's anatomy. Trailing his lips along Alfred's jaw, Arthur pressed searing kisses to the other boy's face and neck. He was rewarded with Alfred wiggling against him a bit harder and breathy sounds from between the American's lips.

Arthur felt so close. He was going to come in his pants if this kept up much longer. And wouldn't that be embarrassing? Thankfully, they were saved by the bell—or rather, Matthew, who called down the stairs that they had to leave for rehearsal.

Grunting, Alfred shouted back, "Be there in a second Mattie!"

"Come on Alfred," Arthur tried to push the larger boy off, but found himself grasping at Alfred's back and pulling him closer.

"Ugh," Alfred grunted. "I don't wanna stop Artie."

"I know love, neither do I." Arthur assured him, wriggling his hips underneath Alfred.

Suddenly, the American pulled back and sat up on the couch, knees on either side of Arthur's legs. "We should go," Alfred said, pulling his shirt on. He was acting as though nothing had happened between them, and Arthur was a little hurt at the brush off.

"Yes, I suppose so," the English boy managed.

They hastily straightened their clothes and went upstairs to follow Matthew to the night's rehearsal. Arthur felt a knot somewhere in his stomach that wouldn't go away.

* * *

Rehearsal that night was a chaotic affair. One of the fresher girls screamed at Arthur that he had betrayed her and was dragged sobbing out of the auditorium by a friend. Anya spent the entire dance section referring to Alfred as a 'total buffoon' and other such insults which made the jock steaming mad. Natalia was acting strangely toward Arthur and would only speak to him in one word sentences. All in all, it was an odd evening and both boys were relieved when it was over.

"Come on Artie, I'll drive you home." Alfred said slinging his bag over his shoulder.

"What about Matthew?" Arthur questioned.

"He's staying late to do some lighting shit or something—probably just going to hook up with Gilbert in the light booth." Alfred said with some disgust.

"Oh," Arthur felt his cheeks warm.

"Come on babe," Alfred placed his arm firmly around Arthur's shoulders and steered him toward the parking lot. Once safely in the car, Alfred leaned over and pressed a quick kiss to Arthur's lips. It was soft and welcoming and full of all the emotion that Alfred could convey. Arthur loved it. But his mind was still niggling with the fact that Alfred had cooled down their afternoon make out so quickly.

"Alfred," Arthur began once they were driving. "What was that this afternoon?"

"What do you mean Artie?"

"You climbed off of me so quickly, and put your clothes back on without so much as a 'by your leave,'" Arthur's voice sounded hurt. "Are you ashamed of me?"

"What!" Alfred jerked the car to a halt in front of Arthur's house. "Why would you think that?"

"You seemed as though you were able to just drop everything and what we had didn't affect you," Arthur stammered. He was beginning to feel like an idiot.

"Are you kidding?" Alfred gaped. "I've had a boner all night—can you imagine dancing with a boner—it isn't fun!"

Arthur let out a small giggle. "I'm sure it isn't."

"Artie," Alfred whispered. "I really like you! I just realized when Mattie called down that I was about to nut my pants and if we hadn't been interrupted it would have gone further."

"There is that possibility." Arthur drolled.

"I just didn't want my first time to be in the basement rec room all rushed with my brother waiting for us." Alfred explained.

"Your first time?" Arthur's breath hitched.

"Yeah," Alfred said. "You wouldn't want that either right?"

Clearing his throat, Arthur managed, "No of course not."

"Great," Alfred chirped. "So we're good?"

"Yes of course we're fine," Arthur smiled.

With a quick peck on the cheek, Arthur was out the door, walking to his house in a daze. Alfred was a virgin! Oh, how that thought made Arthur's heart jump. He had the opportunity to be the first person that Alfred F. Jones ever fucked. Well, if the situation ever came up, Arthur knew that he was going to do his damndest to make his boyfriend's first time, the best time.

* * *

Arthur found a visitor near his locker the next morning in the form of Natalia. The willowy beauty was standing next to his locker door staring at her shoes and wringing her hands.

"What's wrong lovely," Arthur walked up to her.

"Oh," she seemed startled. "Arthur. I was just—I just—"

"Yes?" Arthur seemed a bit disturbed by the girl's stuttering.

"I had a question."

"Ask away love," he said encouragingly.

Natalia attempted a bit of a smile, although it looked forced. "I was wondering if," she paused for a moment. "If you would accompany me to the Homecoming Dance." She looked up into Arthur's eyes. "As my date."

Arthur found himself speechless. "Nat, you know I'm gay."

"I know," she said simply. "I was just thinking, you know, we are friends and no one has asked me yet and no one has asked you and that it would be nice to—"

"Natalia," Arthur said simply. "Someone did ask me, about a month ago."

"You and Jones have been fucking for that long?" She sounded incredulous.

"It's not Jones," Arthur hastened. "And we aren't fucking Nat."

"Then who?"

"Um," Arthur turned bright red. "Actually, um, your, um, your sister Anya asked me."

"What," Natalia's voice was low and dangerous.

"Yes, she asked me—as a favour—and I agreed," Arthur stammered. "To be her date."

Natalia's face was almost purple with rage as she ground out, "You're taking my _sister_ to the dance? My sister. The woman that we _both_ agree is a tyrannical sociopath who treats me like garbage because she _asked you as a favour_!"

"Um, yes." Arthur whispered. Natalia was a force to be reckoned with and he did not want to be on her bad side, although it seemed a bit late for that.

"You," she spat. "Arthur Kirkland will _rue the day_ that you chose my sister over me!" Natalia slammed a fist against Arthur's locker and spun around, stalking off toward her first class.

"Hey babe," Alfred sauntered up behind him, followed closely by Gilbert and Matthew. "What was that all about?"

"Did that crazy bitch actually say 'rue the day'?" Gilbert laughed, grabbing at Matthew's ass.

Shimmying to the side to escape his grasp, Matthew said, "It isn't very nice to call her a crazy bitch, you know Gilbert." The chastisement went unnoticed by the albino boy.

"I think I've made another enemy," Arthur said, sounding resigned.


	10. There's a Fine, Fine Line

**Chapter Ten: There's a Fine, Fine Line**

_"It's not whether you really cry. It's whether the audience thinks you are crying."_

_–Ingrid Bergman_

"What was that all about?" Alfred curiously cocked his head.

"Nothing Jones."

"Don't you 'nothing Jones' me Artie," Alfred pushed himself in front of his boyfriend. "You and Nat are friends. Why is she mad at you?"

"She," Arthur began, looking up into his boyfriend's beautiful blue eyes. "She asked me to the Homecoming Dance. As her date."

Gilbert guffawed and even Matthew snickered quietly into his sleeve. "What the hell was she thinking?" Gilbert laughed. "Doesn't she know you're queer?"

"Yes," Arthur said in exasperation. "She knows I'm gay, she just thought that since no one had asked her that we could go as friends."

"But, she had to know that you're going with me," Alfred said. "Right Artie?"

Arthur shifted uncomfortably. "Actually Alfred," he began. "I agreed to go with another person before you and I started dating."

"What? Who?" Alfred questioned.

"Anya Braginski."

There was a deafening silence. "Who exactly are you going to the dance with?" Alfred's voice was low.

"Anya," came a whisper.

"You're taking that commie bitch to Homecoming!" Alfred cried.

"Look Alfred, I promised her," Arthur tried to reason. "It was before _us_ and I owe her…apparently."

"I can't believe that you'd do something like this Arthur," Alfred sounded broken. But underneath the break was something dark and dangerous. Something that Arthur didn't like, even though he found himself incredibly turned on by an angry Alfred.

"It was before," Arthur protested again. "Look, I'm sorry, but what do you want me to do? Go back on my word?"

"Yes!" shouted Alfred. "That's exactly what I want you to do."

"I can't," Arthur insisted. "It wouldn't be very gentlemanly to do so."

"You always pull the gentleman card," Alfred spat. "Like you're better than all of us. When really, you're just a coward."

Arthur sputtered. "What! How dare you! I made a date and you're just going to have to find a way to deal with that Jones!"

"Back to Jones then are we?" Alfred's voice was venomous. "Fine then, I'll find a way to _deal_ with it."

Turning on his heel, Alfred stalked away leaving Arthur standing at his locker blinking back tears. How had everything become so messed up so quickly.

"Well, that was entertaining," Gilbert drawled.

* * *

In the few classes they shared, Alfred pointedly ignored Arthur, which caused the English boy to lash out in a few verbal insults and tirades. By the end of the day, both boys were frustrated, cranky and downright miserable. Neither one would admit he was wrong and neither would come crawling back despite the fact that they both yearned to do so. Surprisingly, Matthew was not the one to attempt a reconciliation. It was Gilbert.

"We have to get your brother back together with Pretty Pretty Princess." The albino boy cornered Matthew that afternoon. "This whole day with Al has been a real downer."

"I don't know what we can do." Matthew was at a loss. "They were so angry this morning."

"Well they need to grow the fuck up," Gilbert stated.

Matthew gaped.

"I'm sorry, but they do," Gilbert continued at Matthew's silence. "All this high school nonsense and drama, I expect that kind of bullshit from Kirkland but Al—he knows better. He's always had a clear head and I don't understand why he can't just suck it up and tell the grumpy English bitch that he's madly in love and doesn't want to share. It isn't that hard."

"That's," Matthew said, "A lot more mature than I would expect from you Gil."

"I'm not all blowjobs and flash, honey bear," Gilbert purred.

"Changing the subject," Matthew admonished.

"Right," the albino boy pointed a finger. "So how are we going to swing this? Those two have to get back together or I'm going to go insane. Do you know that Al missed every free throw in practice today? Every. Single. One."

"And I heard Arthur answer three questions wrong in English Lit this afternoon," Matthew conceded. "Something has to change."

"And it's up to us Birdie!" Gilbert crowed. "We will be Matchmakers Extraordinaire!"

"How do you propose we go about this?" Matthew smiled, finally getting on board with his boyfriend's scheming.

"Very sneaky-like, mien liebling," Gilbert smirked. "Very sneaky."

"As long as it doesn't involve Nair this time, my love," Matthew giggled. "I'm in. Let's save my brother and Arthur from a fate worse than death."

"Spinsterdom."

"Yes."

The boys held hands as they walked down the hall together, unaware that they were being observed.

* * *

Natalia poked her head out from around the corner and watched Gilbert and Matthew retreat down the hallway. She smirked evilly. Arthur was her friend to be sure, but if he was in hot water for dating her sister then so be it. The pompous little actor deserved it. He should have never agreed to take Anya to the damn Homecoming dance in the first place!

Natalia wasn't so hurt by the English boy's rejection, she was just livid that it had been at the hands of her sister. Unfortunately for Arthur, Natalia had a deep sense of familial ties and therefore couldn't take out her aggression on her hated sister.

_'Nair,'_ Natalia had heard Matthew say. Now that was a fine coincidence. She knew exactly how she was going to use that idea. She just needed to have time and the opportune moment.

* * *

Rehearsals were going steadily and Antonio was beyond pleased with how Alfred and Arthur's relationship was displaying onstage. He was also secretly pleased as to how it was blossoming offstage as well, but a drama teacher never interferes…much. So he didn't say anything that would completely humiliate the boys. Maybe just some light teasing. Which, that afternoon, was not received well at all. Antonio was confused, but he shook it off.

The boys, meanwhile, could not.

They had pointedly ignored one another for the entire day and neither one was planning on stopping now that they were at rehearsal.

"Come on you two! You have to say your lines AT each other, not toward the audience," Antonio admonished for the tenth time that night. "You need to be speaking to each other."

"Fine," Arthur spat venomously.

Alfred remained silent, but he turned his body slightly more toward the other boy. "Okay, Mr. C," the American attempted.

"I don't understand," Mr. Carriedo came up on the stage and pulled Alfred and Arthur together. "Our plan was working so well, you two actually seemed like…friends."

"Women," Alfred groaned. "Women got in the way."

"Oh shut it you insufferable prat," Arthur snapped. "You're just being a big baby about all of this."

"I'm being a baby! You're the one who can't stand up and say who you really want to go to the dance with!" Alfred countered.

"Well I'm not a—" Arthur was cut off.

"Boys, boys, boys," Antonio clapped a hand on both of their shoulders. "I love the enthusiasm, I just wish there was some love behind it. Let's try it again and this time, act like you're fucking friends."

"Language," Arthur corrected their teacher.

"I'm allowed to swear. I'm a grown up."

Arthur stuck his tongue out behind Antonio's back as the drama instructor turned away. Alfred giggled at the display. It was the first time all day that either boy had acknowledged that they were friendly.

"Once again from the top!" Antonio called. "Just one more!"

It was going to be a long night.

* * *

The next few days passed in a similar fashion with the boys attempting to ignore one another. Although, they weren't very good at it. In their few shared classes, they couldn't stop sneaking glances and when they were alone both boys were consumed with thoughts of the other. The entire fight was becoming distracting and interfering in their day to day lives. It was unbearable.

Arthur finally resigned himself to apologizing. He wasn't going to back down and refuse Anya, but he was damn sure going to try to apologize to Alfred in the meantime. Perhaps a well-timed blowjob was the answer. Although, he would have to find a way to get Alfred into a position where he could actually deliver on the 'apology head' that he had in mind. That was the tricky part.

Deciding to wait until after that night's rehearsal, Arthur was determined to find a way to get Alfred alone so they could hash this out. And if he got a taste of his boyfriend's dick in the process—Arthur was sure that both of them would be fine with that outcome. Rehearsal dragged on for the English boy, especially since he wasn't needed very often. He spent most of the time sitting with Elizabeta and trying to read a book for his English Lit class, but his mind kept wandering. And his eyes kept wandering to Alfred who was usually center stage and looking amazing.

Finally, Mr. Carriedo called for an end to rehearsals and Arthur watched as Alfred gathered up his bags and headed for the doors. Following slightly behind, Arthur watched as his boyfriend made his way for the gym's locker rooms. Wondering what Alfred was up to, Arthur kept himself at a distance as Alfred entered the boy's locker room, the door swinging shut behind his delectable ass. Waiting a few moments in the deserted hallway, Arthur worked up the courage to follow and crept up to the locker room door. Once inside, he heard the running water of the showers and gulped. It was now or never. He and Jones had to hash this out once and for all, and if Jones was naked—all the better for Arthur.

Entering the shower area, Arthur could see Alfred's shape outlined in the steam, his boyfriend furiously scrubbing his hair and sighing. "Alfred," he spoke hesitantly.

Spinning around, one hand covering his genitals, Alfred's eyes bugged out at the sight of his boyfriend standing in the locker room watching him. "What the fuck are you doing here Artie?"

"I wanted to talk to you," came the response.

"Well," Alfred mumbled. "I'm a little busy right now." He shifted awkwardly on the balls of his feet.

"Yes, I can see that," Arthur drolled. "Harder for you to run away now isn't it?"

"I'm naked Arthur." Alfred's face tinged red.

"As I am well aware," the English boy smirked. "Perhaps this would help with the tension?" He began to pull off his own clothes, somewhat self-consciously, but less embarrassed than Alfred.

"What are you doing?" Alfred squeaked.

"Joining you in your nudity." Once Arthur was down to his boxer briefs, he slid his hands into the band, and locked eyes with Alfred. "Nervous lad?"

Alfred gulped. They were about to be naked together for the first time. In a semi-public place, of course he was nervous! He was freaking terrified. "Not at all," he managed, his voice only slightly hitching.

Arthur shed his underwear in one smooth movement and immediately stepped into the spray of the group shower. Alfred gulped. His eyes glued to what Arthur had to offer. His boyfriend was packing a lot more than he would have guessed. Alfred immediately began to harden at the thought of a naked Arthur Kirkland in the same shower as him. He subtley pinched his arm to make sure this wasn't some sort of dream. It wasn't.

Moving closer, Arthur was now standing under the same spray as Alfred, his eyes peeking up at the taller boy through thick black lashes. Alfred shuddered and let out a breath. His throat was dry and he kept trying to swallow but it was too difficult when he was concentrating on the lithe, naked body in front of him.

"So, is this more comfortable for you?" Arthur asked shyly.

"Not at all." Alfred responded truthfully.

"Good," Arthur smirked. "Now then, I wanted to apologize for the other day."

"Um," Alfred stammered. "What?"

"The whole Anya situation." Arthur ran his hand through his own hair, looking away. "It was insensitive of me to not consider your feelings. She asked me before we were together but I see now that I should have spoken to her earlier when the two of us became exclusive."

"Um, yeah," Alfred gulped, still staring at Arthur's naked body.

"I apologize for not doing as such," Arthur didn't seem to notice the scrutiny that his body was under. Being an actor had some perks—you were never really self-conscious no matter the state of undress. "Is there some way I can make it up to you?"

"Uh," Alfred blinked. "I, uh, don't, um, know."

"Well, do you forgive me?" Arthur asked, finally meeting Alfred's blue eyes.

"Of course!" Alfred would forgive anything that a naked Arthur asked. What did he have to forgive anyway? Nothing probably. There was no way that naked Arthur had done anything to upset him. Alfred was sure of that.

"Good," Arthur leaned in, his hand grazing Alfred's chest as he pressed his lips against his boyfriend's parted mouth.

"Oh my god," Alfred murmured as they broke apart. "Holy shit, Artie."

Arthur smiled through half-lidded eyes. He reached down and lightly fingered Alfred's hardened cock. "Now that you've forgiven me, what are we going to do about this?"

Alfred wasn't sure if he was still breathing. The hot water of the shower pounded on his back and he watched with an open mouth as Arthur sank to his knees on the tile. Arthur's face was level with Alfred's groin and Alfred's breaths were coming in small gasps. "Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god!"

Grinning, Arthur leaned in, his hands on Alfred's hips, and licked the tip of Alfred's member. Alfred's penis quivered in response and Arthur smiled fully. Nuzzling his face against Alfred's crotch, Arthur continued to bestow small licks and kisses to his boyfriend. Alfred wound his hands into Arthur's hair, panting. This was the most amazing thing to ever happen to him. It was like a porno fantasy come to life. His boyfriend was on his knees, sucking on his dick in the shower!

Arthur took the length of Alfred in his mouth and moaned as he tasted the salty skin of his boyfriend. He had waited so long for this. Alfred F. Jones was finally in his mouth! It was a dream come true for the English boy. He sucked and licked and ran his tongue around the shaft in an effort to make his boyfriend come.

It wasn't long before Alfred was gasping and yanking on Arthur's hair, saying, "I'm close babe!" The stimulation was too much for the American. He had never been touched by another person before and the visual and feeling was unbearable.

Arthur pulled back and kept his mouth open as Alfred jerked himself to a finish, coming all over the British boy's face and tongue. Standing up, Arthur placed his face under the hot stream of water as Alfred tried to catch his breath. "That," the American panted. "Was the best apology ever!"

"I'm glad you approve," Arthur padded over to his bookbag and extracted his gym shampoo from the front pocket. "Now I have to get you out of my hair."

"Sorry babe," Alfred looked a little guilty.

Putting a dollop of shampoo in his hand, Arthur began to lather his head, including his face, to try and get the remnants of come off of his skin. After a few moments, Alfred finally caught his breath enough to admire his boyfriend's lean body as he washed up. Suddenly, there was a plop as something his the tile floor of the shower.

"Artie, babe," Alfred stared at the clump of hair near the drain.

"What is it?" Arthur asked, his eyes closed as he massaged his scalp.

Another plop and another chunk of hair fell.

"Babe!" Alfred yelled, "You're hair!"

Arthur opened his eyes and saw that his hands were covered in hair, and the water was running chunks of it toward the drain! "My hair!" the English boy cried.

Alfred pointed, a look of wordless horror on his face. "Your eyebrows!"


	11. Everything's Coming Up Roses

Arthur stood sheepishly in front of Mr. Carriedo and Feliks, the boy who was in charge of costume design. He had a wool knit cap on his head and his eyes were downcast as the flamboyant costumer railed away.

"I can't believe that you would do something like this to me!" Feliks wailed.

"I didn't do it to you, Ponce," Arthur snapped. "I didn't do it period. Someone did it to me."

"Still Arthur," Mr. Carriedo cleared his throat, "It would have been nice of you to check with either myself or Feliks before you did something so drastic with your hair. You know you're supposed to clear all physical changes."

"For the last time!" Arthur cried. "I didn't do it on purpose! Someone put Nair in my gym shampoo! This was deliberate sabotage!"

"You know it was probably the basketball team," Feliks piped up.

Arthur rolled his eyes, "It wasn't the basketball team." He sighed wearily. "It was someone else."

"Who?" Mr. Carriedo asked.

"I-," Arthur stammered. "I don't know."

"Well either way, we are going to have to figure out what to do for the show." Mr. Carriedo looked tired.

"Perhaps a wig?" Feliks offered, pulling off Arthur's cap to reveal a shorn head.

From behind them, Alfred's cheerful voice spoke up. "Artie shouldn't have to wear a wig, it would look dumb. I think his hair looks great for Kenickie."

Mr. Carriedo and Feliks stared hard at Arthur, who squirmed a bit under the scrutiny. "I look ridiculous," the English boy pouted.

"I think it's hot," Alfred smiled.

Absently, Arthur rubbed the short spikes of his head while Feliks circled him like a shark. "It could work," the costume designer poked a finger at Arthur. "You have a bit of a bad boy thing going on with this look."

"So it will all be okay," Mr. Carriedo said brightly as he smiled at Feliks.

"I can work with it." Feliks smirked. "But next time, Kirkland, make sure you clear all physical changes with me first!"

Arthur didn't have the energy to argue anymore. He simply nodded. Alfred stepped closer to him, swinging his arm over the shorter boy's shoulder. "At least it didn't get your eyebrows babe," the American said.

* * *

 

The next day, Arthur confronted Natalia. He met her by her locker and perfected his scowl before addressing the blonde beauty.

"I know it was you."

"Whatever are you talking about?" she replied innocently.

"The Nair in my gym shampoo." He snapped. "You made me bald!"

"You're not completely bald," she pointed out.

"I look like a hooligan."

"Feliks seems happy with the finished product. Kenickie is a hooligan after all."

"I'm not going to take this lying down you know," Arthur growled.

"I wouldn't expect you to." Natalia slammed her locker shut and stalked off down the hall leaving a fuming Brit in her wake.

* * *

 

Gilbert sat in his history class, bored and daydreaming about Matthew. The quiet blonde boy was seated a few chairs in front of him and he wanted Matthew to pay attention to him. It was difficult to concentrate on the teacher at the front of the room droning on about the ancient Egyptians when he had so many other things he would rather be doing. Things that involved Matthew, minus a few clothes.

Balling up a piece of notebook paper, Gilbert took careful aim and threw the wad at the back of Matthew's head. It bounced harmlessly onto the floor, but Matthew visibly stiffened in his chair. Tossing another piece of paper got him a quick glare, but Gilbert was not dissuaded. Mattie was so hot when he was angry. Gilbert continued to toss small pieces of paper at the back of Matthew's head for the remainder of the class. He didn't have anything in particular that he wanted, he just needed the blonde's attention.

When the bell rang, he got it.

"What the hell Gil?" Matthew gathered up his books and sent a glare to his boyfriend. "Were you trying to get us in trouble?"

"No one noticed." The albino boy grinned.

"I don't have time for your childish games Gil. What did you want?"

"You."

"Me?" Matthew's voice went up an octave.

"Yeah Birdie," Gilbert drawled. "I wanted your undivided attention."

"Well you have it." Matthew almost snapped.

"I was thinking—"

"Always dangerous," Mattie quipped.

"Ha. Ha." The albino boy laughed humorlessly. "I was thinking that since we both have free period we could go out to my car and make out for a while."

Matthew pretended to think over the idea for a good minute before he grinned wickedly and nodded. "Sounds like a plan."

As the two boys linked hands and began the trek out to the school parking lot, Gilbert leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to Matthew's cheek. "So," Gilbert began as he opened the car door for Matthew, "Your brother."

"Talking about my brother isn't any way to get me in the mood Gil."

Gilbert ignored him and continued. "He and Princess Perfect are an item now, yeah?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"Like, an official couple?" Gilbert pressed.

"As far as I know."

"We should ask them out," Gilbert said as he situated himself in the car, leaning toward Matthew.

He was stopped by a firm hand on his chest. "Woah," Matthew said. "What do you mean, 'we should ask them out'?"

"Like on a date," Gilbert looked at Matthew as though he was crazy.

"What?!" Matthew squeaked.

"Yeah," Gilbert said. "They could be our couple friends. We could all go out on a double date together and then I get to spend time with my boy and my boyfriend."

"And Arthur." Matthew pointed out.

"No plan is perfect, I'm sure the prissy pants will be tolerable."

Matthew looked deep into Gilbert's eyes and sighed with resignation. "So you want to ask Arthur and Al if they'll go on a double date with us so you can spend more time hanging out with Al?"

"He's always busy with that stupid play. So are you, come to think of it." Gilbert huffed.

"It's a musical. And it's important. He won't get into World University if he doesn't do the show."

"I know, I know," Gilbert persisted. "I just want to hang out with my best friend again and what better way to do it then get the two of you together."

"It's not a stupid play," Matthew pressed.

Gilbert rolled his eyes. "It's not a stupid play," he repeated.

"And you'll be there opening night, right?" Matthew persisted.

"Of course I will Birdie," Gilbert smirked. "I'll be there every night if you want me there."

"I do want you there." Matthew whispered.

Gilbert leaned in again for a kiss and this time, Matthew let him reach his goal. The two boys clung together as the German pressed soft kisses to Matthew's neck and cheeks. "Fine," Matthew finally agreed in a breathless whisper. "I'll ask Al if he wants to go on a double date."

"Yes!" Gilbert pumped a fist into the air before returning his attentions to the slender boy in his arms. He always got his way.

* * *

 

Alfred was getting back into the swing of things after his week of in school suspension and dealing with his new boyfriend. Life was good. Great in fact. Everything was going the way it was supposed to. He had the love of his life by his side, his classes were going well, Arthur had agreed to talk to Anya about the dance and best of all, the show was coming along amazingly. Sure there were a few hiccups here and there; Arthur's hair for instance, but for the most part, Alfred F. Jones was having the time of his life.

Arthur tried to warn him that he should be waiting for the other shoe to drop; but Alfred's perennial positive attitude kept the blonde American feeling buoyant and happy. Even Arthur's normally pessimistic nature was clouded by the American boy's happiness. Besides, it was rather hard to remain taciturn when you were being randomly smothered with amazing kisses. And amazing they were.

The boys were in Alfred's room after school, under the pretense of studying, but in all actuality, laying on the taller boy's bed and sneaking smooches.

"Alfred," Arthur moaned as he tilted his neck back.

"Oh Artie," Alfred responded, lavishing kisses to his boyfriend's face. "God, you taste so good."

Arthur hummed wordlessly in response. He felt like he was flying. This exquisite contact was almost too much for the small Englishman. He never wanted to let Alfred go. The thudding of his heartbeat was growing more rapid as he allowed himself to be pleasured by his lover.

"I'm so glad we're going to the dance together." Alfred whispered.

Arthur stilled. "What was that love?"

"The dance. I'm glad we're going together."

"But Alfred," Arthur pressed a hand to Alfred's chest and pushed the larger boy backward, stopping the lovely kisses. "What about Anya? I did promise her."

"But you apologized to me and said that you could talk to her about it."

Arthur didn't remember any such promise, but then again, he was a little lightheaded from all the kissing. And who honestly knew what he had said in the heat of the moment under the shower spray. He may have agreed to talk to Anya. Damn. "Is that what you really want love?" the English boy asked tentatively.

"Well, yeah," Alfred brushed his hair out of his eyes. "I thought you could talk to her and then you and I could go to the dance together. The way it should be."

Dreading the future conversation with Anya, Arthur nodded his head silently. Alfred pressed another soft kiss to his lips and the British boy found himself saying, "All right love. I'll speak to Anya immediately."

Alfred grinned into the next kiss. Gilbert was right; it was fun to get your way.

* * *

 

Arthur knew that the conversation with Anya would be uncomfortable at best and unbearable at worst. But he had made a promise to his boyfriend to at least attempt to reason with the intimidating girl; and Arthur Kirkland never broke a promise if he could help it.

He seized his opportunity at the first break that Mr. Carriedo called during rehearsal that night. Arthur figured that in such a public place Anya probably wouldn't hit him and this was the first time that he had seen the gorgeous blonde all day.

"Anya, love," he began. "Would you mind if we had a chat?"

"Of course not Kirkland," her voice was melodious as she responded. "What can I help you with today?"

"No help," Arthur waved his hands in front of him. "Not really anyway." Anya stared as Arthur took her arm and led her slightly away from the stage. Once they were more secluded, Arthur cleared his throat, trying not to betray how nervous he actually was. "I'm sure you've noticed over the past few weeks that Jones and I are…close."

"You're dating." The Russian beauty stated bluntly. "Everyone knows. Although, what you see in that clumsy oaf, I will never know."

"Yes, well," Arthur stammered. "We are dating. And since we are dating, you can see how he would appreciate going to the Homecoming Dance with me." Anya stared blankly, a small smile on her face. Arthur blinked for a moment and then continued. "I know that I promised to go with you, but I was wondering…if um, you wouldn't be opposed to us calling it off. For Alfred's sake."

"He is jealous perhaps?" Anya tilted her head.

"A little."

The Russian girl made a small noise in the back of her throat. "I see. He does not wish for us to go together to the dance."

"No," Arthur agreed. "He would prefer if he and I went together. As a couple, you know."

Nodding, Anya closed her eyes and smiled. "Far be it for me to stand in the way of true love."

Arthur couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Really?" he questioned. "You're okay with this?"

"I would not want to cause trouble." Anya smiled. "You will however have to find a way to pay me back for the ice pack."

"No problem," Arthur readily agreed. "Thank you Anya. Thank you so much!"

The tall girl simply smiled and nodded before turning on her long legs and sailing away. Arthur was relieved. That hadn't been nearly as bad as he had been expecting. Maybe things were looking up. Perhaps Alfred was right and he didn't always have to wait for worst. Now all he had to do was tell his boyfriend the good news.


	12. A Step Too Far

**Chapter Twelve: A Step Too Far**

_""You think that just because I'm a movie star I don't have any feelings? Well you're wrong—I'm an actress—I have ALL of them." –Goldie Hawn in 'First Wives Club'_

* * *

Alfred was ecstatic at the realization that Anya was out of the picture and that the two boys could attend the Homecoming Dance together as a couple. He was practically bouncing off the walls. Nothing Arthur said or did would calm the rambunctious teen. Not that Arthur minded so much, his own heart was doing backward flips just thinking about it. It would be the first time that the Englishman had a date to a dance. And a boyfriend date for that matter. Alfred wouldn't stop talking about the colour of their suits or the kinds of boutonnieres they would have. Arthur found his boyfriend's attitude rather infectious; and adorable.

The next few days passed uneventfully, with Arthur not speaking to Natalia and spending all his free time with Alfred being lavished with kisses. It wasn't a bad way to live as far as the short blonde was concerned. The only dark spot was the upcoming double date that Alfred had agreed to go on with Gilbert and Matthew. Arthur wasn't looking forward to it. He still hadn't quite forgiven his boyfriend's best friend for punching him in the face. But if it would make Alfred happy, then Arthur was willing to slog through a night with the albino.

The double date was scheduled for a Thursday night because somehow there was neither basketball practice or rehearsal. Arthur spent the entire day dreading it. He didn't know what to expect. At least Matthew was good company; and he would be spending time with Alfred. Those were definite pluses.

As the hour of the date drew near, Alfred could hardly contain his excitement. He was going to get to spend time with his three favourite people! Alfred and Gilbert had decided on taking the boys to a small Italian restaurant where they could have dinner and then maybe something afterwards, depending on how well the evening went.

Gilbert came by Alfred and Matthew's house, and then the three of them went to pick up Arthur.

"This is gonna be so much fun," Alfred chirped as they pulled up in front of the Brit's home.

"It sure is!" Gilbert agreed. "We're going to have an awesome time!"

Matthew remained quiet in the backseat. He wasn't sure what to expect from a night out with his brother and his boyfriend. He had a feeling that Arthur wasn't looking forward to finding out either.

"Let me just go up and get Artie and we can go," Alfred popped out of the driver's seat and ambled his way up the walk to Arthur's dark house. The front porch light was on, but no other lights could be seen coming from the domicile.

Alfred knocked on the door loudly for a full minute before it was opened and Arthur stepped out. "Quit that bloody racket," he admonished.

"Hey Artie," Alfred grinned. "You ready to go?"

"As I'll ever be, I suppose."

Alfred took Arthur's hand as they walked back to the car. Gilbert had relocated to the backseat and had an arm slung around Matthew's shoulders. "Hey there Princess," the albino greeted Arthur as the two boys slid into the front seat.

"Hello," came the curt reply. "Hello Matthew," was the more courteous greeting to the quiet blonde.

"Hello Arthur," Matthew whispered.

"So," Alfred exclaimed. "Let's get this party started!"

The drive to the restaurant was uneventful. When they pulled up out front, Arthur was pleasantly surprised. It was a rather nice Italian place owned by Coach Romano's brother. There were checkered tablecloths and drippy candles on every table. Arthur felt a soft blush grace his cheeks when Alfred pulled out his chair for him.

After the waitress came by to take their drink order, the boys settled into a comfortable conversation with Gilbert and Alfred making most of the small talk. Matthew was content to simply sip his water and listen to his boyfriend and brother talk about the latest basketball game. Soon enough, the talk turned to the upcoming production of 'Grease.'

"Hell Week is absolutely brutal," Arthur commented. He received a nod of agreement from Matthew.

"What's Hell Week?" Alfred asked, his eyes wide.

"Tech rehearsals," Matthew answered.

"What, just fixing the lighting and shit?" Gilbert piped up.

"Not just the lighting old chap," Arthur took a sip of water. "Costumes, lighting, sound, everyone has to be off book."

"What does that mean? Off book?" Alfred queried.

"It means that you have to have all of your lines memorized by then. There won't be anyone in the audience to help you if you get stuck and yell 'line' anymore. They expect you to handle any gaffs on your own." Arthur explained. "It's brutal. Rehearsals can go up to eight hours and everything is being fixed and tweaked."

"Eight hours!" Gilbert and Alfred's cries came simultaneously. "How are we supposed to go to school and sleep?" Alfred asked.

"You aren't supposed to sleep," Arthur replied daintily. "You'll be lucky to get two or three hours."

"I need my full eight to function," Alfred grumbled.

"You'll do just fine," Matthew consoled.

"It can't be that bad," Gilbert observed.

Both Arthur and Matthew snorted into their pasta. "Can't be that bad?" Arthur shook his head. "What do you think Matthew? Just a walk in the park?"

"It's brutal," Matthew echoed Arthur's earlier statement. "Especially for the techies." Spearing some of his pasta, Matthew chewed thoughtfully before he said, "Last year I almost had a nervous breakdown during Hell Week and I wasn't in charge of anything. I'm worried about this year."

"You'll be fantastic," Arthur assured him.

"I don't like the sound of this," Alfred huffed. "I don't think it's necessary to run us ragged, even Coach R wouldn't have an eight hour practice."

Arthur and Matthew exchanged glances. "It's to make sure that everything runs smoothly on opening night," Matthew explained.

"It's absolutely necessary, love," Arthur agreed.

No matter what Artie and Mattie said, Alfred was starting to get worried. Anything called Hell Week couldn't be good. And Alfred wasn't sure he was ready to sacrifice his sleep schedule for the show, college application or no. The longer the night went on, the more Alfred became nervous as his brother and boyfriend talked about previous Hell Weeks and what could go wrong during them. It was a grim dinner.

* * *

Once dinner was over, the boys endured a mild argument over who was paying the bill, and eventually Gilbert won, allowing Alfred to leave a tip but refusing money from both Matthew and Arthur. Arthur thought it was very gentlemanly of the albino boy to do so. Gilbert went up a notch in his estimation. Piling into Alfred's car, Arthur turned to his boyfriend and asked, "What now?" Correctly assuming that the date was far from over.

"I thought we'd go up to Lookout Mountain and check out the city," Alfred said, naming the popular makeout spot.

"Splendid," Arthur said, taking Alfred's hand and doing his best to ignore the sounds of kissing coming from the backseat.

"Dude, take it easy," Alfred glanced back in his rearview mirror. "That's my brother you're macking on."

Gilbert laughed but pulled away from Matthew. "Just a little teaser as to what's coming, right Birdie."

"I wish you wouldn't call me that," Matthew sighed.

"But it's cute, like you." Gilbert persisted.

"Still," Matthew said as he laced his fingers with the German boy's hand.

It only took about fifteen minutes to get from the restaurant to the top of Lookout Mountain. It was really just a small hill that looked out over the town. The perfect place for teenagers to park and drink or engage in sexual activity. When they arrived there were already a few cars parked at the scenic spot.

Alfred parked and Gilbert was immediately out of the car, pulling Mattie gently with him. "We'll catch you two later," Gilbert smirked. The two boys headed off into the night. Probably to head down one of the nearby trails and engage in a little sexual activity of their own.

Alfred turned in his seat to face Arthur. "I really wanted to bring you up here sometime, sorry it's with Gil and Mattie."

"It's no problem," Arthur insisted. "I'm enjoying myself."

"Good," Alfred breathed out a sigh of relief.

"What's got you so nervous, love?" Arthur asked.

"You," Alfred answered truthfully. "I'm just…you know…nervous."

"Of me?" Arthur raised an eyebrow.

"Well," Alfred's breath hitched. "I wanted to thank you for the other night. You know, in the shower." The American boy's cheeks flamed and Arthur felt his own burn.

"Love," he said, "You don't have to thank me for that."

"I mean, I wanted to return the favor," Alfred breathed out.

"It's fine," Arthur said. "You don't have to do anything you're scared of doing."

"I ain't scared!" Alfred's cheeks puffed out. "I mean, I'm just…you know."

Arthur took a deep breath and rested his hands on Alfred's. "Have you ever, you know, _given_ a blowjob before Alfred?"

The American boy's face beamed even brighter with the telltale blush and he shook his head silently. "Never."

"Well, there's no rush you know," Arthur comforted. "I'm perfectly happy just kissing you for now. I know it's probably nerve-wracking thinking about taking things to the next level, especially since you're a virgin and all."

"Wait," Alfred pulled back a bit. "Aren't you?"

"Aren't I what?" Arthur tilted his head.

"Aren't you a virgin too?"

Now it was Arthur's turn to blush profusely. "Well, um, no," the Brit stammered. "No, not exactly."

"What!?" Alfred exclaimed.

"I slept with a boy last year, just once." Arthur felt Alfred's hands pull away.

"Who?" Alfred asked.

"No one you know," Arthur blushed. "He was an exchange student from Portugal."

"That smarmy guy who called everyone 'darling'?"

"Um, yes…" Arthur trailed off. "Sorry," he said, although he wasn't sure why he was apologizing.

"Well," Alfred huffed. "That was unexpected."

"Are you angry?"

"No," Alfred said slowly after a while. "I'm not angry, I just…I just thought that our first time would be together."

"Oh, I'm sorry love," Arthur said. "It didn't mean anything and I felt awful afterward."

"I'm sorry Artie," Alfred took Arthur's hands in his once again. "But we can still do it, right? Together?"

"Of course, love," Arthur nodded. "Of course. I just want to make sure that you're ready. And preferably that it isn't here in a practically public place."

"Yeah, we seem to be bordering on voyeurism half the time, don't we?" Alfred chuckled. "Um," his face grew more serious, "do you mind if I ask…were you the top or the bottom?"

Arthur felt his blush flare up even more. "I topped." Alfred nodded thoughtfully, his expression still grave. "But if you're more comfortable topping your first time, I'm more than happy to bottom for you," Arthur rushed out in a single breath.

"I think I would be more comfortable topping," Alfred said. "At least at first."

Arthur smiled. "That can be arranged love."

Alfred let his hand graze Arthur's face softly before leaning in for a kiss. It was a gentle brush of lips. Arthur opened his mouth gently to allow Alfred better access. Suddenly, Alfred's tongue was assaulting his mouth in the most pleasurable of ways. Their kisses were deep and hungry and Arthur found himself clinging to Alfred's shoulders.

The two boys clung to each other, kisses deepening until there was a sharp rap on the window signaling the return of Matthew and Gilbert. All four boys were disheveled as they drove home under the street lamps.

* * *

Elizabeta met Arthur by his car the next morning, her normally perfect appearance a little frazzled. "Are you ready?" she asked, her voice shaking.

"I honestly don't know," he replied. "I never am."

"Me either," she sighed. "I wish you and Nat would make up."

"She made me bald, Eliza," Arthur snapped.

"It looks good on you," the attractive girl tried to reason.

"It doesn't matter," Arthur grimaced. "We just have to make it through this week and everything will be fine."

"Yes," she agreed. "Just make it through the week."

The two friends walked arm and arm into the school. "Do you think Mr. Carriedo is going to go off the deep end again this year?" Elizabeta asked.

"I don't see why not," Arthur responded. "He has every other year. I swear the man is bipolar during Tech Week."

"Did you warn Jones?"

"I tried," Arthur sighed. "I don't think he believes me."

"Well, that poor boy is in for a rude awakening isn't he?"

"Yes, I'm afraid so," Arthur glanced around as though he would see his boyfriend standing nearby. "I'm afraid so."

* * *

Tech Week, or Hell Week, as the students referred to it, had begun. The last week of rehearsals before Opening Night when all the little snags were worked out, the lighting set, the costumes finished. It was a torturous run of seven straight days of eight plus hour rehearsals after school. Most of the students only clocked two or three hours of sleep a night, and were dead on their feet all day. The only person remaining cheerful was Alfred, and even he was getting a little run down.

"Once more, from the top," called Mr. Carriedo from the back of the auditorium. "I want to make sure the lighting is perfect."

Of all the students involved with the show, Tech Week was taking its toll on Matthew; who refused to allow Gilbert entrance to both the theatre and himself. This in turn, was making the German boy very grumpy. Grumpy Germans equaled pain for everyone involved. Gilbert spent most of his free time trying to sneak into rehearsals despite the fact that he had no reason to be there other than Matthew. The soft-spoken lighting designer was too busy to deal with his persistent boyfriend and was getting close to the breaking point when Mr. Carriedo finally called an end to the night's rehearsal.

"Okay everybody, gather 'round," the drama instructor called out before students could scramble out for a few measly hours of sleep. "I have the rehearsal schedule for the next week. It's going to be rough people."

As the papers were handed out, something caught the eye of almost every student present. A big block was scheduled for Friday night. The whispering and titters of the group of students grew louder as people began to figure out what had happened. The longest rehearsal of the week was scheduled for the same day as the Homecoming Dance!

"This isn't fair," Alfred cried.

"How could you schedule a rehearsal for the same day as the dance anyway?" Arthur snapped.

"This is the theatre," Mr. Carriedo's normally chipper voice was an octave lower than normal. "We live and die by the theatre. You don't have time for silly pursuits such as dances when we are this close!"

"This isn't like you Antonio," Arthur insisted.

"No, it isn't," Mr. Carriedo agreed. "But I've had a change of heart when it comes to success."

"You've been talking to your husband too much," Elizabeta said venomously.

"Perhaps," Mr. Carriedo stated. "But the fact remains that next week, we open and this is Hell Week. Excuse me, Tech Week. We don't have time to waste an entire Friday night on the dance." Looking around at the group of students before him, the drama instructor fixed them with an unusually hard stare. "Anyone who isn't at rehearsal on Friday night will find themselves out of the show."


	13. Any Dream Will Do

**Chapter Thirteen: Any Dream Will Do**

_"That's what makes acting so attractive. You get to break all your own rules."_  
Gerardine Clark

Antonio was facing a mutiny. Although the normally cheerful drama instructor had no idea what was getting up behind his back, the students were furious about not being able to attend the Homecoming Dance.

"What are we gonna do?" Alfred wailed. "I really wanted to go to the dance with you, I even rented a tux!"

"Well," Arthur said pragmatically. "Take it back."

Alfred huffed and puffed and whined for another five minutes while Arthur steadily checked books back into the library. He found work distracting. He was almost as upset at the recent turn of events as Alfred; and concentrating on his job seemed to help ease the pain a bit. He had so been looking forward to dancing the night away with Alfred that he was seriously considering cursing Antonio. Damn that man. He had to get ambitious for Tech Week. The only time of year that the perennially happy Spaniard was ever a tyrant.

"It's a crushing disappointment isn't it," Arthur scanned another book.

"It's a tragedy!" Alfred cried. "I was gonna romance you so hard that night! I thought that we could…you know."

"On the night of the Homecoming Dance? How clichéd can you get Jones?"

"It would've been special." Alfred huffed.

"Well, love," Arthur scanned another book. "You'll have to settle for a night of rehearsals instead."

"What if we just skipped?" Alfred said suddenly.

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Skipped? The biggest tech rehearsal of Hell Week? Really Alfred."

"Why not?" Alfred asked. "What's he gonna do? Fire the two leads? I bet we could get everyone to skip and then he couldn't do anything to us."

"That's a terrible idea." Arthur shook his head. "He'd find a way to do something. I honestly wouldn't put it past him to cancel the show. You don't know what Antonio is like during Tech Week."

Alfred groaned. "This sucks. I don't wanna go to rehearsal."

"What? And you think I do?" Arthur glanced over at his boyfriend.

"No," Alfred said sullenly. "I know you wanted to go to the dance."

Arthur stopped his work and placed his hand on Alfred's shoulder. "Don't worry love, there's always Prom."

"That's a million years away Artie!"

"It's a few months, granted, but not a million years, don't exaggerate Alfred." Arthur chastised.

"I just wanted to spend time with you!" Alfred cried. "I feel as though we never see each other except in rehearsals anymore."

"I know love," Arthur responded. He turned slightly, setting down the book he was scanning. "It's absolute torture," he placed his hand on Alfred's chest. "Complete rubbish."

Leaning toward Alfred, the taller boy didn't even notice as Arthur closed the gap between their lips. Pressing against each other, the boys moaned into the other's mouth desperately. Oh, how Arthur had wanted this. To simply shut up the American boy for a moment and breathe in the intoxication that came with kissing him.

They broke apart suddenly as a throat cleared behind them. "Didn't mean to interrupt," Gilbert smirked at the boys.

"You always mean to interrupt," Arthur muttered.

"What's up Gil?" Alfred asked.

"I have a plan," the albino boy grinned. "You want to go to the dance, and I want Mattie to go to the dance…we have a find a way to get Carriedo to cancel rehearsal that night."

"Short of hitting him with a bus, what's your plan?" Arthur asked snidely.

"I haven't worked out all the details yet, but I have an idea." Gilbert looked around to make sure they weren't overheard.

"What?" Alfred and Arthur chorused.

Gilbert smiled evilly, "All we have to do is get Coach R to insist that they spend the night together. Coach R will take care of the rest, you know that Antonio can't resist when his husband insists on alone time."

"And how are we going to convince Coach R to help us?" Alfred raised an eyebrow.

"That, I haven't figured out yet." Gilbert admitted. "I may need your help coming up with something."

"Shocking," Arthur snarked. "Well, it has its roots in a decent plan I guess. I don't know how easy it will be to convince your coach to help, but it's all we have now."

Gilbert chuckled. "Any plan I come up with is awesome!"

"We'll see about that Beilschmidt," Arthur shook his head.

* * *

 

Hell Week was well under way, and everyone was feeling it. Most of the girls had already dissolved into tears at some point and Alfred was ready to join them. He didn't have it in him to sing another song, much less dance. Antonio was being ruthless.

"Again from the top," the drama instructor called. "One more time."

"It's never one more time!" Alfred cried, defeated. "You always say 'One More Time' but it isn't. It's always five more times."

"That's because you aren't doing it properly," Antonio chided. "If I could get one decent run through then I could let you all go, but you keep ruining it."

"We aren't ruining it," Arthur piped up, "You're just being a perfectionist."

"It's good enough as it is," Elizabeta agreed in a tired voice.

Antonio scowled, "If it's good enough as it is, then you won't mind that I recast you with someone who has depth and emotion behind her singing, will you?"

"You wouldn't dare," Elizabeta's eyes widened.

"I am not above recasting this entire show right now," Antonio crossed his arms. "You're all slacking off and not trying for the best this show could be. It's an insult to me, to the academy and to our patrons."

"You mean our parents," Arthur muttered under his breath.

"This show must be the best that World Academy has ever put on and none of you are trying," Antonio cried dramatically. "Why, I remember my first leading role—"

"Here we go," Arthur whispered to Alfred.

"It was in a production of 'You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown,'" Antonio began to reminisce. "I was Snoopy and it was a wonderful role. We all stayed up—"

"Twenty-four hours straight and the end result was perfection," chorused Arthur, Natalia and Elizabeta. They had heard this speech many times before. It was getting old.

"Si," Antonio said. "It was perfection. But you, my little stars, are not shining brightly right now. It is not perfection. It is a disgrace."

"Perhaps we aren't shining brightly because we none of us has slept for three days and you're still not allowing us to attend the Homecoming Dance," Arthur snapped.

"I would definitely have depth and emotion behind my voice if I could go to Homecoming," Elizabeta added.

"Me too," Natalia chimed in.

"I just wanna go home," Alfred sighed.

"No one is going home!" Antonio roared. "Now, once again from the top. And this time, try to not suck so much."

* * *

 

Rehearsal had finally ended for the night and Roderich was wearily packing up his belongings when a noise caught his attention. From stage right came a delicate sniffle, the distinct sound of a woman crying. Roderich rolled his eyes; he didn't have time for such nonsense. Something stopped him though. Whether it was the timbre of the sound or a deep gut feeling, something compelled the stuffy musician to begin to move in the direction of the crying.

"Hello?" he called. "Who's there?"

He was met with the sound of more tears. Pushing aside a curtain, Roderich glanced down to see none other than Elizabeta curled up in a ball, crying her eyes out. Without thinking he immediately knelt down beside her, placing his gentle hands on her shoulders.

"Elizabeta, darling," Roderich whispered. "What is wrong?"

The girl's face went red and she tried to swipe away some of the tears with the back of her hand. "Nothing. I'm fine Roddy."

"You most certainly are not fine," the musician insisted. "What is wrong?" he repeated.

Attempting a smile, Elizabeta said, "The stress of Tech Week is getting to me, that's all."

"That's not all," Roderich said. "You have been through dozens of Tech Weeks and I have never seen you break down like this before."

With a small hiccup, Elizabeta stood, the tears on her face beginning to dry. "I just can't believe that Antonio would say that about me. That I have no depth and emotion behind my singing."

Roderich stared. He had heard the insult, of course, but he also knew that it was untrue and was surprised at Elizabeta's reaction. He knew that she usually had a much thicker skin.

Continuing, the sad girl looked into the musician's eyes and said, "I just can't believe it. I've been putting my everything into this show and for him to just—" She cut herself off with a growl.

"Elizabeta, you know that what Mr. Carriedo said wasn't true, yes?" Roderich gently took her hand. "You have the most exquisite singing voice."

"He wouldn't have said it if he didn't mean it." The fragile prima donna erupted into another round of tears.

"He is just under the stress of Tech Week as well and he is pushing you all too hard," Roderich felt uncomfortable at the show of emotion. Taking a small step back, Roderich tried to distance himself from the crying girl without being rude. She wasn't having any of it. Leaning into him, Elizabeta buried her face against Roderich's narrow chest, heaving. Roderich blinked. Here was the object of his affections, practically hugging him and he was stiff as a board…in more ways than one.

"Oh Roddy," Elizabeta sighed. "You're always so kind to me."

Deciding to seize the opportunity presented to him, Roderich leaned into her touch ever so slightly. "You are amazing Elizabeta," he whispered. "Don't let Mr. Carriedo get you down."

She glanced up at him with tears shimmering on her eyelashes, their faces almost touching. Roderich's breath hitched. He wiped away her tears and held her until she was calm again.

* * *

 

Matthew leaned against his desk, his wet hair brushing his shoulders. It had been a long and painful night. Mr. Carriedo had yelled at him three times about the lighting in the Beauty School Dropout scene and Matthew found himself embarrassingly close to tears. He wasn't going to fold though. Even now, in the privacy of his own room, he refused to let the tears fall. He was stronger than an irritable Spaniard.

Pulling on a pair of fuzzy flannel pajama pants, Matthew sighed. He was just about to turn out his lights and sink into the obliviousness of sleep when he heard the noise. Small little taps at his window. Ignoring it for a few moments, Matthew was surprised when the noise came again. This time somewhat louder. Walking to his window, Matthew peered out into the darkness. He saw nothing. As he gazed out at the dark lawn, he was startled by a handful of pebbles from the driveway hitting his window. Jerking back with a start, Matthew shook his head from the shock and then opened the window and leaned out.

"Who's there?" Matthew called quietly.

From the lawn under the tree outside his window came a movement and Gilbert stepped into the light of the window. "It's me, Birdie!" he called.

"Shhh," Matthew admonished. His parents and neighbors were sleeping after all. "Keep your voice down."

"My voice only has one volume," Gilbert attempted a whisper that was really more of a shout. "Come on out and play Birdie."

"Gil," Matthew sighed. "I can't. It's late and we have school tomorrow."

"You look so good without your top on," Gilbert smirked, the white of his skin showing up now under the moonlight.

"What do you want Gilbert," Matthew sighed impatiently.

"I just wanted to see you."

"You see me every day," Matthew shook his head and smiled at the sweet gesture.

"Yeah, but lately you're too busy for me," Gilbert pouted. "You're always in rehearsal and you won't let me come anymore."

Matthew grinned. "That's because you're a big fat distraction."

"I do my best," Gilbert said proudly. The two boys grinned at each other for a moment before Gilbert finally looked at his shoes sheepishly. "All right," he admitted. "I had another reason for coming by."

"And what would that be?" Matthew asked.

Getting down on one knee, and gesturing wildly with his hands, Gilbert crowed, "Go to Homecoming with me?"

Matthew sighed in anguish. "Gilbert, you know we can't. We have rehearsal that night."

Pouting, Gilbert stood up and gazed up at Matthew earnestly. "What if I can guarantee that you _don't_ have rehearsal that night."

Matthew bit his lip and leaned further against the window sill. "If you could guarantee that, which you can't, then of course I would go to Homecoming with you."

Gilbert beamed. "That's all that I needed to hear Birdie," he smiled.

"Goodnight Gilbert," Matthew said sternly.

"Goodnight mein liebling," Gilbert called up to him as Matthew slammed the window shut.

Leaning against the window, Matthew pressed a hand to his frantically beating heart. Gilbert was going to be the death of him. He just hoped that no one had overheard their late night rendezvous.

* * *

 

Coach Romano was surprised to find a gaggle of students standing outside his office the next morning. His suspicious nature forced him to raise an eyebrow and glare at the students gathered before him. Elizabeta and Roderich were holding hands in the background and Gilbert and Alfred were crowded around him, flanked by Matthew and that scary Russian girl that Coach R didn't like.

"What do you little bastards want?" he growled in the direction of Alfred.

"Nothing," Alfred squeaked. He still wasn't sure that this was a good idea. Coach R was scary.

"What he means is, that _we_ don't want anything." Gilbert said smoothly. "I'm here to extend an invitation from my grandfather."

Leaning back in his chair, Coach Romano smirked. "What kind of invitation?"

Gilbert grinned. His hook had worked. "He wants you and Mr. Carriedo to come to dinner on Friday. That's all. Seven pm."

The coach nodded his head slowly and stroked his chin. "This Friday?"

"Yup," Gilbert nodded.

"The night of the Homecoming Dance?"

"Uh huh," Alfred smiled.

"This wouldn't have anything to do with the fact that you have rehearsals that night and won't be able to attend the dance unless they're cancelled?" Coach Romano stared pointedly at the boys.

"I told you that he wasn't stupid enough to fall for this," Roderich grumbled under his breath.

"The prissy little boy is right," Coach R growled. "I'm not stupid. You need my help and I'm not inclined to give it."

"Awe, why not?" Alfred cried.

Sitting up straight in his chair, Coach R fixed the tall American with a hard stare. "Why should I help you? You lot have been nothing but trouble all year. Drinking on campus and missing practices. You're lucky you're still on the damn team."

"But coach," Gilbert soothed. "It was all for a good cause. You want Al to get into college don't you?" He knew that the coach received a rather nice bonus for every student that he coached who ended up at a top ranked college.

"Makes no difference to me," Coach Romano said. His voice was calm, but his shoulders were tight.

"What if I were to explain to you, that Alfred and I have every intention of throwing the last game of the year if you don't take my grandfather up on his very generous offer?" Gilbert grinned evilly. "Then you won't have any students going on to college, which means no bonus for you, and you'll have to cancel your trip to the Spanish Rivera this summer. I don't think that would go over very well with your little husband."

As Gilbert spoke, Coach Romano's face went redder and redder. A vein pulsed on his forehead as he tried to hold back his anger. "Fine," the coach spat. "I've wanted a night out with Antonio lately anyway. May as well be this Friday."

"Remember to make it convincing," Gilbert sneered. "I don't want my night with Mattie cut short by a crazed director."

"Not a problem," Coach R ground out, his teeth clenched. "Now get the fuck out of here."

"Thanks coach!" Alfred beamed, clearly not picking up on the subtleties of blackmail.

As the students filed out of the Coach's office, Gilbert smacked Alfred across the back, "Looks like we'll get to use those tuxes after all."

"Oh man, this is the best!" Alfred crowed. "I can't wait to tell Artie!"

"Now we just have to hope that Coach R keeps up his end of the deal." Gilbert smirked.

"He will," Elizabeta spoke up. "He won't risk the two of you throwing a game."

"Yeah," Alfred said "That was just a bluff thought, right Gil?"

"No." The albino boy looked straight at Alfred. "If he doesn't pull through for us, you have to be prepared to do your worst at our last game Al. Blackmail isn't a joke."

"Blackmail," Alfred squeaked.

"My, my," Elizabeta cooed. "You certainly have been getting up to some naughty things since joining the drama club Alfie." She smiled coldly.

"I didn't think we were serious," Alfred said.

"Come on man," Gilbert said soothingly. "He'll come through. Don't worry about it. We are going to the dance!" He grabbed for Matthew's hand. "I told you I'd make sure you wouldn't have to go to rehearsal on Friday."

"Only you Gil," Matthew shook his head. "Only you."

* * *

 

Coach Romano came through. After a minor fight between the married teachers, rehearsals for Friday night were cancelled leaving room for the elated students to attend the Homecoming Dance.


	14. I Could Have Danced All Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm tossing around an idea to write a sequel to this with the boys in university. Idk if anyone would be interested in that.
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING: Bullying and use of homophobic slurs

**Chapter Fourteen: I Could Have Danced All Night**

_"I love acting. It is so much more real than life."_  
~ Oscar Wilde

Running his fingers through his hair, Alfred let out a huge sigh. He was so incredibly nervous about the dance. He wanted the entire night to be spectacular. Everything had to be perfect for Arthur. He wouldn't stand for anything less than a perfect night with his amazing boyfriend. Unfortunately for Alfred, he tended to mess up at the last moment and tonight was no exception.

"The flowers are all wrong," Alfred wailed at Matthew as they drove home from the florist. "I ordered a green rose to match his eyes and they gave me a plain white one."

"To be honest Al, I don't think that Arthur would have appreciated the green rose. It's a sign of fertility." Matthew pointed out.

"How do you know that?" Alfred asked.

"I researched before I bought my own flowers for Gilbert and me." Matthew explained patiently.

"Well what do white roses mean?" Alfred asked blinking.

"I think it stands for purity or something like that." Matthew replied.

"Well that doesn't work," Alfred huffed. "I don't want him to be pure. I want—"

"Please stop," Matthew cut off. "I don't want to hear about you two doing the nasty."

Alfred puffed out his cheeks in frustration. "We _haven't_ done the nasty. Not yet anyway. I was hoping to tonight though."

"That's absurdly clichéd," Matthew echoed Arthur.

"Well what about you and Gil? Have you done it yet?" Alfred glanced over the steering wheel and slid his eyes toward Matthew.

"That's none of your business," Matthew replied. "Siblings don't talk about their sex lives with each other Alfie."

Muttering under his breath, Alfred turned his attention back to the road. "Do you think Artie will like the white roses?" His voice sounded small and childish, so concerned about the flowers that Matthew didn't have the heart to tease him.

"I think he'll love them Alfie," Matthew reassured.

Once the boys arrived at home, there was the inevitable fight over who got to use the shower first, with Alfred winning. Alfred locked himself in the bathroom and turned on the hot spray of water. He knew he didn't have much time before Matthew would begin pounding on the door and whining that it was his turn, so he hastily shed his clothes and stepped in the shower. The hot water sliced over his body, relaxing his muscles. Clenching his eyes tightly, Alfred conjured up an image of Arthur on his knees in the locker room. Roughly grabbing himself, Alfred jerked himself to a finish, knowing that he would be better on his game after a quick session in the shower. Hastily washing his hair and skin, he then stepped out, feeling relaxed and loose.

"Come on Al, hurry up," came the plaintive whine of Matthew behind the door. "I have more to do to get ready than you."

Wrapping a towel loosely around his waist, Alfred stepped out of the bathroom and relinquished the room to a pouting Matthew. Heading to his room, Alfred ran a hand through the wet locks of his hair. Despite the mix up with the flowers, he had to admit that he was feeling pretty confident about the upcoming evening. Mattie was right, Arthur would probably like the white roses more than green anyway. Maybe the florist had done him a favour. Toweling off in his room, Alfred went to his closet to look at the tux hanging on the inside of the door. His dad had taken him and Matthew to rent them the week before. Alfred had picked out a blue tie to match his eyes and he was excited to see Arthur's face when he picked him up. He knew the Brit would enjoy seeing him all dressed up, a change from his normal attire. Arthur seemed like the type to appreciate big fancy events and Homecoming was surely that. Not as big as Prom, by far, but still enough glamour to appease the small English boy.

Now dry, Alfred began to carefully dress himself. He could hear Matthew getting out of the shower down the hall. Wearing only his tux pants, he made his way towards Matthew's bedroom and opened the door expecting his brother but instead finding Gilbert lounging on Matthew's bed.

"Gil?" he asked dumbly. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to pick up Birdie for the dance, duh," Gilbert swung his legs onto the floor and looked at his friend.

"It's early." Alfred said.

"I had nothing better to do." The German boy's tie hung loosely around his neck and his tux jacket was slung over a chair in the corner. "I wanted to see how long it takes mien leibling to get ready."

"Seriously?" Alfred raised an eyebrow.

"No," Gilbert grinned. "I told you, I don't have anything better to do. My brother and his date already left for the restaurant they were going to and my grandfather is busy making dinner for Antonio and Coach R. He didn't want me in the way."

"Your grandpa is actually making them dinner?" Alfred said impressed.

"Ja," Gilbert smiled. "That's the only way to ensure that Coach R will come over—home cooked meal."

"I guess I just figured your cook would do it," Alfred tugged at his tux pants.

"Nah, we gave her the night off. She doesn't get along with Coach."

Suddenly the door opened to reveal Matthew, wearing only a bathrobe, and a towel on his head. "What are you two doing in my room?" he asked looking a little upset.

"Just waiting for you," Gilbert smiled, reaching a hand out toward the folds of Matthew's robe.

Slapping his hand away, Matthew went over to his dresser where he proceeded to towel off his hair and being applying different lotions and potions to his longer locks. "And you Al? What did you need?"

"I'm just…you know," he stammered. "Nervous."

"About what?" Matthew flicked his hair.

"Arthur."

"What do you have to be nervous about?" Gilbert quirked an eyebrow.

"Nothing," Alfred stammered. "It's just…we were gonna…tonight…"

Smirking, Gilbert jumped off the bed. "Oh ho! You were gonna…tonight? Ja!" He slapped Alfred hard on the back. "Good for you buddy."

"I don't think it's gonna happen though," Alfred said. "I just don't want to mess anything up."

"The first time is always the hardest," Gilbert said wisely.

"How do you know?" Alfred looked sideways at his erstwhile friend.

"I've been around the block before," Gilbert evaded.

"Not with me," Matthew said snidely from the other side of the room. He had stepped into the closet to remove his robe and was now dressed similarly to Alfred with just his tux pants on.

"Damn Birdie," Gil whistled. "I hope I get to see you like this again later tonight."

"You just might." Matthew winked.

"Ew, gross," Alfred protested. "I don't wanna hear about you two getting it on."

"See Alfred," Matthew pointed out. "I told you that earlier. Siblings don't talk about their sex lives. Now if you will both excuse me, I have to finish dressing. Gilbert why don't you go help Alfred."

Grinning as he stood, Gilbert slapped his hand lightly across Matthew's ass before following Alfred down the hall. As Alfred dressed slowly, he talked about his concerns with Gilbert who did his best to comfort the less experienced boy.

"You just gotta take control Alfred," Gilbert advised. "Show him how much you want him and he'll go along with it."

"I hope you're right Gil," Alfred sighed. "I hope you're right."

* * *

Meanwhile, across the neighborhood, Arthur was having a similar crisis of his own, although he had no one to vent his feelings to, as his older brothers were all out. As if summoned by magic, the front door of his house slammed announcing that someone had come home. Calling down the stairs, Arthur asked who it was.

"It's me, Scot," came the reply.

Arthur's oldest brother, the professional golfer was in town for the week to visit with their parents and Arthur felt instant relief that it was Scot at home instead of his mother or father.

"Can you come up for a moment Scot," Arthur called down the stairs. He was fully dressed and had taken care of business in the shower earlier, so he was pretty much ready to go, simply waiting for Alfred to come pick him up.

Arthur could hear the heavy clomping of his brother's feet as he ascended the stairs and knocked on Arthur's bedroom door.

Whistling, Scot leaned against the doorframe, "That's right kiddo, it's the big night tonight isn't it?"

"Homecoming Dance."

"And you're going with your new little boyfriend," Scot grinned. None of Arthur's family had a problem with his sexuality, they embraced him. Although sometimes one of his brothers would tease him for being a 'poof' it was mostly all in good fun and Arthur didn't mind.

"Yes, Alfred," Arthur responded.

"Why do you look so down," Scot asked.

"Well, it's just that I think Alfred may have some expectations for tonight and I don't know if I'm ready to go there just yet." Arthur blushed fiercely.

Scot bristled. "He better not have any _expectations_ if he knows what's good for him."

"Scot," Arthur sighed. "We're practically grownups."

"No one is defiling my baby brother," Scot insisted.

"A little late for that," Arthur grumbled.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Look Artie," Scot said, "Don't let him talk you into anything you aren't ready for."

"I know," Arthur slumped his shoulders, defeated. "I just really love him and we've done _other_ things," Arthur flushed as he spoke to his older brother. It was easier saying things like this to Scot than it would be to their parents. But there was no way in hell Arthur would ever open up like this to his mum and dad. "I just don't want to ruin the night if I'm not…feeling it."

"It won't ruin anything." Scot said gently. "You're a grown boy, you tell this Alfred how you feel and he'll be fine with it. Trust me." Scot cracked his knuckles.

"What are you going to do? Threaten him?" Arthur laughed.

"Possibly." Scot grinned. "I will be here when he comes to pick you up after all."

As if on cue, the doorbell rang.

"That will be him." Arthur sighed.

"Well, let's get this over with," Scot patted Arthur's shoulder affectionately.

The doorbell rang again as the two brothers descended the stairs. "He's so impatient," Arthur smiled. When he reached the door, he took a deep breath and opened it to the most stunning sight he could ever remember seeing. Alfred F. Jones stood on his doorstep in a form-fitting tuxedo, his hair styled perfectly, except for the wayward tuft that always seemed to escape. The American boy's bright blue eyes sparkled behind his glasses and Arthur felt his breath catch.

"Hey Artie," Alfred spoke softly, almost shyly. "You look amazing."

"So do you," Arthur managed to breathe out.

"You must be Alfred," Scot stepped forward and extended a hand toward the taller boy.

It was the first time that Alfred had met anyone in the Kirkland family and he was a bit nervous to make a good impression on Arthur's relatives. "I sure am," he said brightly taking the proffered hand. "Alfred F. Jones at your service."

"This is my brother Scot," Arthur said without needing to.

"Yeah, I recognize you from all the Sports Illustrated covers." Alfred grinned. "I play a little golf too, maybe sometime you, me and Artie could go out for a round."

"It would be my pleasure," Scot managed to smile. "Well come on inside," Scot invited. "Mum will kill me if I don't get pictures for her to see when they get home."

"Oh no," Arthur blushed hotly. "We don't need to take pictures."

"Come on Artie," Alfred laughed. "It'll be fun!"

"It most certainly will not," Arthur insisted. But he opened the door further for Alfred to step inside.

"Come on, stand over by the fireplace Arthur," Scot tried to coax his younger brother to cooperate. "Mum will kill me if I don't have at least one picture."

"Fine," Arthur scowled and grabbed Alfred's hand leading the taller boy toward the large fireplace that set in the center of the family room. "Just one picture for mum and you're not to post it on any social media site. I don't want to see anything on your Twitter account about your 'adorable baby brother going to the dance.'"

"Scout's honor," Scot held up two fingers and Alfred laughed.

The two boys posed together in front of the blazing fireplace, Alfred in the back and Arthur in the front with Alfred's arms around Arthur's waist. Scot clicked a few pictures with his phone before he let them go. "Perfect, all done," he finally said.

Arthur immediately dropped the pose and stalked toward the front door. "We should probably be going or we'll be late for dinner," he said.

"Just a moment though," Scot said, reaching a hand out to place on Alfred's shoulder. "A quick word, if you will."

"Um, sure," Alfred grinned, not seeing the coming signs of a protective older brother.

"Lay one hand on my wee baby brother, and you'll have to answer to me," Scot said, gripping Alfred's shoulder tightly. He practically whispered the threat, it was so soft, Arthur had no idea what he said. He just saw Alfred's tan face go whiter than Gilbert and a quick stiff nod.

"Um, yes sir," Alfred nodded. "No touching. I promise."

Scot grinned as the door closed behind him, confidant that he had put a little fear into the Jones boy. Nobody was going to mess with his baby brother.

* * *

The dinner out was pleasant enough, with Alfred pulling out Arthur's chair and making small talk about how gorgeous his boyfriend looked. Arthur was glad that they were eating alone instead of with Matthew and Gilbert. Although they could see the other couple at a table not far from theirs, it was pleasant to spend the dinner with Alfred's complete attention. And, boy did he get attention.

Everything that Alfred said was about how beautiful and sexy Arthur looked, which caused the English boy to scoff and blush. Everything Alfred did was sweet and kind and chivalrous. Arthur felt truly cherished in their time together at the restaurant.

"Hey Artie," Alfred asked shyly.

"Yes Alfred," Arthur took a sip of his water. "What are you thinking that has that mischievous smirk on your face?"

"How serious was your brother?" Alfred rested his elbows on the table.

Pushing Alfred's elbows back onto his lap, Arthur inquired. "Serious about what?"

"About me not touching you?" Alfred said with a sad puppy dog look in his eyes.

"Is that what he whispered to you before we left?" Arthur shook his head. "He just doesn't want you to take advantage of me."

"I would never!" Alfred insisted.

"I know dearest," Arthur smiled gently. "I just…voiced some of my concerns about the night to Scot and he took it a little further."

"What kind of concerns?" Alfred cocked his head.

"Well," Arthur took another sip of water to clear his drying throat and began. "I'm a little concerned that you were insisting that tonight we could have sex."

"But Artie," Alfred smiled. "It would be romantic to do it on Homecoming Night."

"I'm not saying that it wouldn't," Arthur pressed. "I'm just saying that perhaps I'm not ready."

"But you've already had sex," Alfred pouted.

"Yes," Arthur agreed. "Yes I have, but it wasn't what I wanted and it didn't make me feel very good about myself afterwards. I just want what we have to be special and right. We don't have to rush things do we?"

Alfred sighed. "Of course not." He gazed into Arthur's eyes deeply. "I would never want to rush you. I just want to catch up to you."

"Look," Arthur pursed his lips. "My first and only time I had sex wasn't a great experience. I still feel bad about it some days and I don't want that with you. I want our first time together to be perfect."

"I want that too Artie." Alfred nodded enthusiastically. "And it will be perfect, I'll make sure of it!"

"We can of course make out in the car after the dance if you wish," Arthur relented.

Alfred beamed.

* * *

Unlike the Prom, when the school rented out a ballroom from a local hotel, the Homecoming Dance was held in the gymnasium. Tacky, colourful streamers rained from the rafters and balloons floated merrily through the air as they were batted around by enthusiastic students. Entering the gym, Alfred shyly took Arthur's hand, and squeezed it lightly. Arthur grinned softly and squeezed back. He was so happy and proud to finally be at a dance with his boyfriend. The fact that they had to fight to make it there made it all the more sweet.

"Come on," Alfred grinned. "Let's go and get another picture."

"Really Alfred," Arthur groaned.

"My parents will want to see it," Alfred insisted. "It'll be fun, I promise."

"The first picture wasn't fun," Arthur grumbled. But he allowed the energetic boy to drag him over to where a professional photographer had his set up. There was a cheesy backdrop of flowers and a balloon arch for the couples to stand under. Striking a similar pose to the one they had in Arthur's living room, the boys got their picture taken and then Alfred rushed them off to the punch bowl.

By this time of the night it had definitely been spiked, but neither boy seemed to care. Arthur gulped his down greedily, allowing the alcohol to burn his throat. He tasted scotch and what was probably tequila, which made him smile. At least two separate people had spiked the punch—he was betting that one of them was Gilbert.

"Wanna dance Artie?" Alfred asked, tugging on the shorter boy's hand, pulling him in the direction of the dance floor.

"Perhaps," Arthur smiled gently. He allowed himself to be taken into the sea of writhing students.

Alfred carefully placed a hand on his hip and pulled Arthur closer. A slow song began just as their chests met and Arthur allowed himself to get lost in the music and the feeling of another's arms around him. A few feet away he could see Gilbert and Matthew swaying gently together. Over in the corner, Roderich and Elizabeta did a solemn waltz. Arthur smiled against Alfred's shoulder. So far, this night had been utterly perfect.

Pressing closer to Alfred, Arthur rested his head on the taller boy's shoulder and swayed slightly to the music. It was soothing and comfortable. The dance ended and Arthur felt himself shift to look up into Alfred's eyes. He leaned on his tiptoes and pressed a light kiss to his boyfriend's mouth.

"I'm going to go get some more punch," Arthur said softly.

"Okay," Alfred grinned. "I'll be waiting for you."

Making his way toward the table where the punch was set up, Arthur felt as though he was walking on air. Suddenly he felt a rough shove from behind him.

"Hey faggot," the voice snarled as Arthur was pushed again.

Arthur found himself staring up into the face of one of the basketball players. A tall, muscled boy whose ill-fitting tux did nothing to disguise the beginnings of a beer gut.

"Excuse you," Arthur snapped at the taller boy.

"I'm talking to you, butt muncher," the basketball player glared at Arthur. "Where do you get off making our captain gay!"

Arthur couldn't believe what he was hearing. Him _making_ Alfred gay? What in the world?

"He's joined that faggy musical and now he's out on the dance floor _kissing_ you," the basketballer snapped. "It's fucking disgusting and I don't wanna see it."

"Well then don't look," Arthur replied waspishly. "And I didn't turn him gay, Alfred has always been bisexual. I thought most of you were open-minded seeing as your coach is gay."

"None of us will stand up to coach, but I'll sure as shit stand up to a fucking pansy like you." The other boy's eyes were gleaming with a dangerous light. Arthur was beginning to wish that someone would notice what was happening—a teacher, or even Alfred.

"That is a shame," came a light voice from behind Arthur. He turned to see none other than Anya Braginski standing there, looking like she came directly from heaven. The girl's gown clung to her like a second skin and shimmered in the darkness. Her beautiful face was contorted in a look of rage as she slightly cracked her knuckles. "I don't appreciate the way that you're speaking to my friend."

The basketball player flushed and took a stumbling step backward. "I'm sorry Anya, I didn't realize—"

"Shut your mouth, I never want to hear anything come out of it again, unless it is screams of pain if you ever speak to my friend again." The cold glint of the girl's eyes seemed to make the tall bully shrink in on himself. No one wanted Anya Braginski as an enemy. Silently, the boy turned and walked away. "Are you all right?" Anya asked, her voice taking on a childlike lilt to it once again.

"Yes, quite," Arthur breathed. "Thank you for that."

"Not a problem." Anya smiled and turned away. Arthur watched her part the crowd with ease as everyone she passed stopped to admire her beauty…and ruthlessness.

Abandoning his need for punch, Arthur went back to Alfred's side and immediately enveloped the larger boy in a tight hug.

"Woah, babe," Alfred slung his arms around Arthur's waist. "What's that for."

"I just want you to know how much I love you Alfred Jones," Arthur breathed into Alfred's neck.

"You're usually not this affectionate." Alfred smiled. "I like it though."

Arthur couldn't bring himself to tell Alfred what had happened to him. It felt dirty and sordid and he didn't want to associate Alfred with any thoughts like that. He just decided to cling to his boyfriend and pretend that the night was still perfect. Because as long as Alfred was there and loved him, it was.

* * *

Breathless, Arthur arched up into Alfred's hand. He could feel the press against his groin and it was maddening. Torturous and perfect and wonderful all at the same time. Rolling his hips, Arthur pressed a soft kiss to Alfred's throat. There wasn't much room to move about, as they were smashed in the backseat of Alfred's car. The location wasn't doing anything to stop the rush of teenaged hormones that was steadily rising in the backseat.

"Oh god Artie," Alfred grunted as he pressed himself hard against the smaller boy. Alfred hovered over the Englishman, his arms braced on the rough leather of the seats. Arthur's back felt sticky from the heat that was building up in the car, but he pushed that thought out of his mind to concentrate on the lovely body pressed against him.

Alfred reached up to loosen his tie and gazed down at the perfect boy beneath him. "You're so hot Artie," he whispered as he came back down for another kiss. Their mouths melded together as they left small nips and licks over each other's skin.

Alfred reached down and deftly unbuttoned Arthur's pants. "What are you doing?" Arthur breathed out.

"I'm just making us more comfortable," Alfred grinned. "Trust me Artie, we won't go farther than you want."

"I do trust you," Arthur said, leaning in to press a soft kiss to Alfred's lips. Reaching down himself, he began to unbutton Alfred's tux pants as well, watching what his hands were doing as Alfred showered his jaw and neck with kisses.

Once both boy's pants were undone, they continued their original assault on each other's mouths as their erections slid against one another, trapped only by the thin cotton of their underwear. Gasping, Arthur slid his hands down Alfred's back as he thrust his hips upwards, enjoying the friction of his boyfriend.

Moving his hand, Alfred coaxed Arthur out of his boxer briefs and began to lightly fist the smaller boy's hardened prick as they continued to kiss, steaming up the car's windows. Running a finger over the moistened tip got the reaction he craved as Arthur moaned deeply into Alfred's mouth and twisted his hips beneath him.

"Oh please," Arthur moaned, 'do that again!"

Alfred obliged. The car was filled with the sounds of grunts as the two boys ground together, their erections straining for release. After a few minutes of rutting against one another, Arthur stiffened as he came, spilling himself all over Alfred's rented tuxedo pants. Alfred followed moments after, collapsing onto the heavily breathing boy below him. They lay in the quiet, Arthur running his fingers through Alfred's hair as the American boy caught his breath, whispering against Arthur's ear. "I love you."

"That," Arthur sighed, "My love, was the perfect Homecoming Night. Thank you."

"You ruined my tux," Alfred laughed.

"I'm sorry," Arthur blushed.

"Nah, its fine," Alfred smiled down at him. "I'm sure they see things like this all the time."

"Still," Arthur looked away.

"Come on babe," Alfred grinned. "I'm just teasing you."

"I know," Arthur leaned up and gave Alfred a small, chaste kiss. "I love you."

"I love you too."


	15. Prima Donna

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had so much fun writing this chapter.

**Chapter Fifteen: Prima Donna**

_"An actor must never be afraid to make a fool of himself." –Harvey Cocks_

Opening Night. The night that they had all been working up to for the past hellish two months was finally here. All the blood, sweat, tears and inappropriate erections were worth it to finally be standing on the cusp of the most exciting night of the year so far. Alfred could hardly contain his excitement. He was about to perform in his first starring role and everyone he knew was coming out for opening night. His parent's had reserved their tickets weeks ago and even his aunts and uncles were driving up for the occasion.

Alfred was so consumed with his euphoria, he didn't have any room left in him to be nervous. Unfortunately, Arthur didn't have that luxury. The poor English boy was sitting alone in the men's restroom, perched on a toilet seat and dry heaving into the air. He tried pinching his nose, he tried to breathe deep calming breaths, none of it worked. It was sick really. Every show that Arthur Kirkland performed in, he was visited by an extreme case of stage fright on opening night. And Arthur Kirkland had been in a lot of shows.

Elizabeta and Natalia knew about his weakness and they were always amazed at how he managed to pull it together right before the curtain went up. But he still wasn't speaking to Natalia, and Elizabeta was nowhere to be found. Arthur took a shuddering breath thinking about all of those people who would be in the audience tonight. Too many people. Why did this always happen to him?

The door to the men's room opened slightly and he heard Alfred's voice call out, "Hey Artie, are you in here?"

"Yes," Arthur said shakily. "Yes I am."

"Well, Mr. Carriedo said that we have to have the pre-show warmup and we're all waiting on you."

"I'll be right there," Arthur swiped his mouth with the back of his hand and placed one foot on the floor.

"Babe," Alfred sounded concerned. "You don't sound so good." He knocked on the stall that Arthur was occupying.

"I'm fine."

"No you're not." Alfred insisted. "Open this door."

Arthur didn't make a move. He simply tried to stop the fat tears gathering behind his eyes from falling. He took a deep breath, quietly.

"Open up right now, or I'm gonna take this thing off its hinges." Alfred sounded deadly serious.

Slowly, Arthur reached for the lock and flicked it, allowing the door to bang open, revealing Alfred standing directly in front of him.

"Jeez Arthur," Alfred's eyes crinkled behind his glasses in worry. "What's wrong? Are you sick?"

"No," Arthur tried to stand on his shaky legs. "I'm not sick."

"You look sick," Alfred pointed out.

"Well I'm not," Arthur replied in a huff. "It's just nerves, they'll go away."

"You're sitting in here, almost having a panic attack, practically in tears and you're trying to tell me that it's fine…that it will all go away?" Alfred was incredulous. "Jeez Artie, how often does this happen?"

"Every time I perform." Arthur whispered.

"Every time!" Alfred shouted.

"Yes," Arthur's voice dropped. "I've gotten rather used to it, so it isn't a problem Jones."

Alfred flinched a little at the use of his last name, but he took a step toward Arthur and reached out to touch the smaller teen's shoulder. "Come here," he slid his arms around Arthur's waist and pulled the English boy toward him.

Enveloping Arthur in a tight hug, Alfred stroked his back and nuzzled his hair. "Nothing bad is going to happen. Everything's gonna be all right."

"I know that you twat," Arthur huffed angrily into Alfred's chest. "It's an irrational thing. Stage fright. Could happen to anyone."

Making soothing sounds, Alfred just held the other boy tighter. "I love you Arthur," he whispered.

"I know," came the grumpy reply.

"Just breathe deeply," Alfred said. "Come on, take a big, deep breath for me." Shakily, Arthur drew in his breath slowly and looked deeply into Alfred's blue eyes. "Go on, let it out." The rush of air that followed caused Alfred's wayward cowlick to dance merrily against the boy's head. "Feel better?"

"Much," Arthur admitted. He hated to look so weak, especially in front of his strong and stable boyfriend.

"Well I feel better," Alfred said stepping back a bit. "I was starting to get a little nervous myself, but it was nothing compared to you."

"Thanks," Arthur grumbled.

"How do you do it?" Alfred asked. "How do you go on night after night, and do all those shows if it makes you feel like this?"

"Because I love it," Arthur stated simply. "Theatre is my life."

"I thought I was your life," Alfred asked cheekily.

"You're a close second love," Arthur smirked.

"Well one day I'll be first," Alfred replied confidently.

Arthur smiled and leaned in for a soothing kiss. "I'm sure you will be, one day."

The boys walked hand in hand to the choir room to join the rest of the cast and Arthur felt immensely better as Alfred gently squeezed his hand as they entered. There was no reason to be nervous. He was Arthur Kirkland after all.

* * *

"I know this hasn't been the easiest two months," Antonio began, clapping his hands together wildly. "Especially the last week or so…that's been pretty rough. But we made it through!" The drama instructor was back to his regular cheerful self, as though the events of Tech Week never happened. Some of the students in attendance grumbled in annoyance at the thought. "We put our all into this show and I think it will be the best that this school has ever seen!"

"Hear, hear," Natalia grumbled.

"I just wanted to say how proud I am of each and every one of you for putting everything into this show. Our hard work is going to pay off tonight and you should all be proud of yourselves." Antonio bubbled. "Now let's get to our warm ups and everyone break lots of legs tonight!"

"Break legs!" Alfred cried, scandalized. "Why would you say that?" He looked at Antonio with wide eyes.

"Relax Alfred," Arthur placed a soothing hand on the larger boy's shoulder. "It's a theatrical expression. 'Break a leg' means good luck. Its bad luck to actually say 'Good luck.'"

"That's weird," Alfred muttered. "You theatre people are pretty strange. Telling people to break their legs."

"It's just a phrase," Arthur soothed.

Roderich took his seat at the piano and began to lead the group in vocal warmups, stretching their pitch and range so that they would be ready for the performance. As usual, he kept one eye on Elizabeta, but this time, the girl smiled shyly back at him.

Arthur began to feel his confidence returning with each note he sang; especially since he was holding Alfred's hand throughout the warm ups and the taller boy would give him reassuring squeezes on occasion. It was rather comforting and Arthur found himself liking it very much.

When warm ups were over, the group all joined hands and screamed "Break a leg" at each other before wandering off to touch up their makeup and get into costume. Arthur's breath caught when he saw the finished version of Alfred. The American boy was wearing tight black pants, a black tank top that showed off his impressive biceps and had a leather jacket with the 'T-Bird's' logo sprayed across the back. He looked every inch the 1950s bad boy. Arthur felt his heart stutter.

"You look good Jones," he managed breathlessly.

"You too Kirkland," came the taunting reply.

Elizabeta came bouncing out of the girl's change room in her poodle skirt and cooed over the two boys as they gazed at each other. "Don't you two look so handsome," she squealed. "Let me get a picture!" She pulled her camera phone out and held it up towards the two boys. Alfred immediately slung his arm around Arthur's shoulder and threw up a peace sign. Arthur scowled, his eyes unable to leave the handsome boy's face. Elizabeta snapped the picture and then exclaimed over how adorable they were for a good three minutes. "You two are the perfect couple." She beamed. "Alfred, I'll print you a copy if you want one," she offered, knowing that Arthur would refuse.

"That'd be great Liz," Alfred grinned, squeezing Arthur closer to him.

"That's quite enough of that," Arthur said, prying himself loose from Alfred's grip, his breathing heavy.

"Arthur," came a voice from behind them. It was Natalia, dressed in full Rizzo regalia. Tight black button down shirt and pencil skirt. She looked breathtaking.

"What do you want?" Arthur narrowed his eyes. He was still upset with Natalia over the Nair incident.

The gorgeous blonde girl blushed deeply and said, "I just wanted to apologize. I should have never played such a dirty trick on you. I was just—"

"Mad about your sister," Arthur finished.

"Yes," she looked down at her character shoes. "I was jealous. Jealous that you would pick her over me."

"How do you think I felt?" Alfred piped up.

"It was childish and it won't happen again." Natalia promised.

Arthur regarded her for a moment and when he was sure she was sincere, he shook his head and sighed. "Who am I to judge? I've done worse in my life I think. I forgive you Natalia."

"Really?" the girl looked up at him with hope in her eyes.

"Really." Arthur stated. "It's Opening Night. I may as well be generous."

"Thank you Arthur," Natalia looked at him gratefully. "I promise never to abuse your trust again."

"You best not," came the snippy reply.

"Awe, Artie," Alfred cooed. "You look so cute when you're forgiving."

"Belt up," Arthur playfully shoved Alfred away from him.

Antonio came running through the throng of milling students. "Places everyone! Places! Curtain is in five minutes!"

Alfred and Arthur looked at one another. Here they go. It was time. Time to finally see what kind of a show they had worked their asses off for. What kind of show they had lived and breathed for. Places.

* * *

Gilbert nervously shuffled his feet as he waited in line to give his ticket to the usher. Students could volunteer on show nights to work as ushers or in the concession stand selling t-shirts and posters in order to gain extra credit in their English and Drama classes. It was a popular way to earn extra points because the productions at World Academy were usually so professional.

"Gilbert," came a high pitched voice from behind the albino boy. He turned to see Mr. T and Principal Oxenternia standing behind him. "It's good to see you supporting the arts."

"I'm a big supporter of the arts," came Gilbert's fuzzy response. Usually the guidance counselor or principal never spoke to him unless he was in trouble.

"I see that," Mr. T inclined his head toward Gilbert's hands where a wilting bouquet of roses was being mangled by the large German boy.

"This isn't what it looks like," Gilbert insisted. "These are for…um…

"It's all right Gilbert," Mr. T grinned. "Enjoy the show."

Gilbert blushed. "Thanks. You too." He turned back around just in time to offer his ticket to the junior who was in charge of seating.

"Third row, Seat G, you're right in the center," the junior said, ripping Gilbert's ticket.

"Thanks," Gilbert mumbled. Gathering his flowers, he attempted to hide them behind his back as he made his way to his seat.

Gilbert got himself settled and realized that he was sitting next to Alfred and Matthew's parents. Great. Now he was going to make a fool of himself in front of his boyfriend's family. Perfect. Could this night be any more awkward? Gilbert blushed deeply, clutching the roses in his left hand as he shifted in his seat. He turned to look up at the lighting booth, wondering if he would catch a glimpse of Matthew before the show. No luck. The quiet boy was probably a bundle of nerves right now.

Abandoning his seat, Gilbert made his way up to the lighting booth and knocked softly at the locked door.

"Just a minute," came the muffled response.

When Matthew opened the door he was out of breath and his face was flushed. He had been going through all the light cues in his notebook to make sure it matched up with the ones on his laptop. Last minute checking. It was fraying his nerves.

"Hey Mattie," Gilbert said shyly.

"Gilbert," Matthew breathed. "What are you doing here? I thought you bought a ticket?"

"I did." Gilbert said. "I'm actually sitting next to your parents. I just wanted to make sure you were okay before the show. I was worried."

"I'm fine Gil," Matthew said, smiling.

"Well," Gilbert blushed deeply, his pale white skin flushing with blood. "These are for you." He thrust the bouquet of roses out with one stiff arm toward Matthew and looked at the floor.

"For me?" Matthew said softly. No one had ever gotten him flowers for a show before. No one had ever gotten him flowers before, period.

"Ja," Gilbert blushed even harder. "I wanted you to know that I was thinking of you on your big night."

Gently Matthew took the proffered flowers and lifted them to his face. He smiled as he smelled their sweet fragrance. "Gil," he breathed. "They're perfect."

Looking at his feet, Gilbert shuffled. "Yeah, well, so are you." Leaning forward, Gilbert placed a quick kiss on Matthew's cheek before turning away. "I should get to my seat. Have a good show Birdie."

Matthew couldn't stop grinning as he closed the door to his lighting sanctuary and waited for the show to begin. Gilbert was the sweetest boyfriend ever! Lovingly touching the petals of the roses, Matthew smiled softly. He would have to find a way to repay this sweet gesture.

* * *

Standing backstage, still holding hands, Alfred and Arthur were getting ready to go on. Antonio had called places and they were in theirs, ready to perform.

"How are you feeling Artie?" Alfred glanced at the shorter boy.

"I'm fine Alfred," Arthur breathed out slowly. "I'm much better than how I was earlier. I find that you're a rather calming influence, surprising as that may be."

"Good," Alfred smiled. "I'm glad."

Arthur squeezed his hand and smiled softly into the darkness. How did he get so lucky to find a man as wonderful as Alfred F. Jones?

"Hey Arthur?" Alfred's voice was quiet.

"Yes, love?" Arthur didn't take his eyes off the stage.

"Could I get a kiss? A good luck kiss? Or a breaking legs kiss or whatever? Just…could you please—"

He was cut off with a swift kiss from the English boy. It was rough and quick and hard. Arthur immediately pulled away. "I don't want to mess up my makeup Alfred," he blushed as he turned away, trying to come up with any excuse for not ravishing his delectable boyfriend on the spot.

"Thanks." Alfred grinned. "I feel better now."

"Good." Arthur nodded once. After a moment of silence he squeezed Alfred's hand and said, "Are you ready love?"

"As I'll ever be," Alfred smiled. "I never thought that this moment would come. I've been trying so hard and I honestly didn't think about how I would feel when this moment finally happened."

"And how do you feel?" Arthur raised an eyebrow and tilted his face up towards Alfred's.

"Like I'm flying," Alfred replied.

* * *

After the first number, Alfred was feeling in his element. He felt alive and energized as though he had been hit by a streak of lightening. It was amazing. He could feel the magnetizism between himself and the audience as he helped to tell the love story of a bad greaser boy and a sweet preppy girl.

He was breathing hard and ran his hands through his hair as he walked backstage. He had heard his parents cheering loudly for him in the audience and it only fueled his high. No wonder Arthur put up with panic attacks if this was how performing felt. He still had a few minutes to get to his place on the other side of the stage so he took a moment to watch Arthur and Natalia as they finished up their scene. God, his boyfriend was beautiful.

The show seemed to fly by and all of a sudden it was time for the 'Greased Lightning' number. All the hours that Anya had beat into them suddenly came rushing back to Alfred. He remembered every step, every line, every jump. He was flawless. He _felt_ flawless. During the song he couldn't help himself from grinning stupidly at Arthur as his boyfriend sang his heart out. Arthur was amazing. He brought down the house.

As the boys tromped off stage at the end of the number in the darkness, Alfred lagged behind and snuck up on his boyfriend, grabbing his hand as they walked offstage. He startled the small Englishman who jerked his hand away for a moment before smiling softly and taking Alfred's hand back.

They reached the wings and Alfred couldn't help himself, he gathered Arthur in a huge embrace, lifting the smaller teen up in the air and twirling him around. Their lips met in a fierce kiss as the sound of the audience's applause rained over them. They were a hit.

* * *

The energy of backstage was pulsing as Antonio ran around calling, "Places! Places for Curtain Call!" It was the end of the show. Their first night had been amazing. Nothing had gone wrong, and everything had been spectacular. The audience was raving about them during intermission and the praise seemed to become heavier as the night went on. Now all they had to do was bow.

Alfred couldn't believe how amazing the entire night had been. When Mr. T had first suggested Drama Club to Alfred, the tall American had been skeptical. Now, after months of hard work, a little trouble, and a lot of fun, Alfred could admit that he was glad to have taken the advice of his guidance counselor. If he hadn't, he would have just been another student, disappointed at his college choices and he wouldn't have the amazing boyfriend that he had today. All around, life was good.

Antonio called for places once more and Alfred felt himself pushed towards the back of a sea of performers. He couldn't stop smiling, the atmosphere of the students was infectious. The curtain rose and the first members of the chorus came out and bowed. Boys first, then girls. There was an uproarious applause for them and Alfred grinned knowing that the chorus deserved it. They had put in just as many hours as the leads, sweating and bleeding for this show. He applauded along with the audience.

Featured performers were next, including Francis, who had brought down the house with his rendition of the Teen Angel. Alfred clapped for his sort-of friend and watched as the smarmy Frenchman took his bows.

Finally it was time for the leads. Natalia stalked out on stage in her heels and crossed her legs delicately as she bowed gracefully, her eyes watching the audience the entire time. She received the first standing ovation. Arthur followed and his applause seemed to shake the earth as people began to whoop and holler at the boy who had brought the show's signature song down. Elizabeta followed and she looked every inch the proper princess as she curtsied for the audience. And then it was Alfred's turn. He took one hesitant step onstage and then was full-on running to take his place. Performing a deep bow, the handsome American grinned out at the audience as he received deafening applause. For the first time in his life, Alfred was truly proud of himself. He had done something that he never thought he would do—and he had succeeded at it. The audience _loved_ him! The American's bright grin could be seen all the way at the back of the auditorium as the curtain fell.

The curtain hit the stage floor with a thud and the cast burst into activity behind it. Alfred immediately sought out Arthur and lifted the boy off the ground, twirling in a circle. Arthur squirmed in his embrace and pretended to dislike being spun around in so public a place with the rest of the cast able to see them, but he didn't mean it. Once the British boy was back on solid ground, Alfred dipped him low and pressed his lips to Arthur's slightly chapped ones. Deepening the kiss, Alfred slid his tongue into Arthur's mouth and explored for a moment before he pulled his boyfriend out of the dip.

"That," Alfred beamed, "Was amazing!"

Arthur simply smiled at him, his eyes sparkling.

"I've never felt anything like this before," Alfred rushed on. "I can't believe we get to do this again! We get to do this again Artie, aren't you excited?"

"Yes, yes," Arthur smiled softly. "I am excited Alfred. I take it you enjoyed your foray into treading the boards?"

"What does that mean?" Alfred cocked his head.

"On stage. I take it you enjoyed your first time on stage."

"You bet I did!" Alfred cried joyously. "I'm just glad that you were there too. We were amazing! We were brilliant! We were—"

"Yes, love," Arthur pressed his lips to Alfred's to silence the enthusiastic boy. "Yes we were."

* * *

The cast party was being held at Elizabeta's house. She and Natalia had been preparing for days to make sure everything was perfect and that they had enough booze to placate the rambunctious performing teens. Natalia's older brother Ivan had pulled through on his promise of a keg for his little sister's final performance of high school and the excitement of practically never-ending beer was high.

Alfred and Arthur changed out of their costumes and washed their faces free of stage makeup before meeting in the lobby of the auditorium. Arthur's brother had dropped him off earlier for the performance, so the boys were riding together to the cast party. Alfred's heart leapt when he saw Arthur finally emerge from the boy's change room and begin to walk towards him. There was something different about the English boy. A kind of powerful, underlying strength that hadn't been there this afternoon. It was the way that Arthur looked after every performance that Alfred had ever seen him in.

Smirking as he approached, Arthur held out his hand to have it immediately grasped by Alfred. The American grinned down at his boyfriend and said, "Are you ready babe?"

"Let's go," came the reply.

The boys walked hand and hand out to Alfred's car where the taller teen opened the car door for Arthur and held it open so that the English boy could slide comfortably into the passenger seat. Running around the front of the car, Alfred entered the driver's side and slid a grin at Arthur as he keyed the ignition.

"I'm still riding on such a high," Alfred admitted.

"It lasts for a while," Arthur smiled. "You never forget your first time."

"I'm hoping not," Alfred slowly pulled the car out of the parking lot.

The ride was pleasant as the boys rode in a comfortable silence to Elizabeta's house, which wasn't very far from the school. It took Alfred a little while to find a parking space on the crowded street, but eventually he parked and hopped out to run around the car and open the door for Arthur once more.

"You're going to spoil me," Arthur scowled as he took Alfred's hand and slid out of the car.

"That's the plan babe," Alfred grinned.

They walked hand and hand down the street and paused for a moment before ringing the doorbell of Elizabeta's house. The door swung open, the hostess herself greeting them at the door, a drink already in hand.

"Welcome!" she said brightly.

"Hello Eliza," Arthur smiled politely.

"Hey Liz," Alfred greeted, reaching out to hug the attractive girl. "What a great show! You were amazing!"

"Thank you, so were you," she replied blushing. "Come on in, we have tons to drink and Roderich is setting up the karaoke machine in the basement."

"Where are your parents?" Arthur inquired.

"They decided to spend the weekend out of town. Some sort of 'romantic getaway,'" she waved her hand carelessly. "They don't care that I'm having a few people over."

"They didn't come to the show?" Alfred looked crestfallen.

"They'll come next weekend," Elizabeta assured him. "They hate opening night, they think it's too crowded and they like to see me once I'm more comfortable in my role. It's tradition."

Looking around the room, Arthur took in the sight of theatre kids lounging about in the living room, draped over furniture and loitering in corners. It seemed as though the entire cast, and all their friends had shown up. "A few people," he muttered under his breath.

"Wanna get something to drink?" Alfred asked as they stepped into the house.

"Sure," Arthur knew his way around Elizabeta's home and he made a beeline for the kitchen where she was sure to have stocked some liquor. Once there, he immediately latched onto a bottle of rum and poured himself a red solo cup full of the delicious beverage.

"How can you drink that?" Alfred grimaced as he cracked open a beer.

"It's an acquired taste," Arthur smiled as he sipped his drink. "A refined taste."

"If you say so," Alfred said.

"Hey guys," they were greeted by a loud voice behind them and turned just in time to see Gilbert walk into the kitchen, his arm slung over Matthew's shoulders.

"Hey bro!" Alfred greeted his brother. "Great show, huh?"

"You were wonderful Al," Matthew said softly.

"Well so were you!" Alfred insisted. "Every scene looked amazing because of all the work you did! Mom and dad are gonna be so proud of us!"

"I'm sure they are," Matthew snuggled a bit into Gilbert's arms.

"I swear," Alfred said, taking another sip of his beer. "This has been the best night ever!"

Gilbert smirked and lowered his voice. "Speaking of best nights, I have an idea to make this one even better."

"What, pray tell?" Arthur said suspiciously.

Reaching into his back pocket, Gilbert pulled out a small piece of plastic about the size of a credit card. "This," he flicked his wrist and tossed the card to Alfred, who caught it deftly.

"What is it?" Alfred eyed the tiny card.

"A room key," Gilbert grinned, his eyebrows waggling.

Neither Alfred nor Arthur responded. They simply stared at the key in Alfred's hand and then looked up at Gilbert with matching blank expressions.

Rolling his eyes, Gilbert tightened his grip on Matthew and looked Alfred dead in the eye. "It's a hotel room key. I got us two rooms at my grandfather's hotel. One for me and Mattie," he slid a sly look at his shy boyfriend. "And one for you two. Room 815."

"What's it for?" Alfred asked naively.

"It's for spending the night," Gilbert smirked. "And other things."

Arthur raised an impressive eyebrow and regarded Gilbert for a moment before he spoke. "You mean to say that you purchased a hotel room for Alfred and me to spend the night tonight?"

"Exactly," Gilbert crowed. "Call it a celebratory gift for a show well done. My gift to you."

"Thanks Gilbert," Alfred said, gripping the card in his hand, and looping his free arm around Arthur's shoulders, pulling the smaller boy toward him.

"You know there's lots of stuff you can do in an empty hotel room," Gilbert wiggled his eyebrows again and Matthew giggled behind him.

"I have a few ideas," Arthur said drolly as his glanced up at Alfred.

"Do you?" Alfred smiled down at Arthur and placed a swift kiss on the English boy's forehead.

"You kids have fun," Gilbert shouted as he steered Matthew away into the crowd. He was pleased that his scheming was coming to fruition. Operation: Get Alfred Laid was a go.


	16. As Long As You're Mine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW Chapter. Some USUK sexiness is about to go down.

**Chapter Sixteen: As Long As You're Mine**

_"Kiss me too fiercely, hold me too tight. I need help believing you're with me tonight."_

_-Elphaba (Wicked)_

The boys decided to cut out of the cast party shortly after their conversation with Gilbert. Alfred couldn't believe that his friend had actually got him and Arthur a hotel room. He remembered back to the beginning of the year when Gilbert had insisted on helping him get laid and he grinned in response. Looks like best friends really came through in the end. Making their way to Alfred's car, the boys walked hand in hand through the darkened streets.

"Are you all right to drive, love?" Arthur asked. The rum was beginning to settle in his belly and he felt pleasantly warm.

"I just had half a beer babe, I think I'm okay," Alfred replied.

"Okay," Arthur huffed. "I was just checking."

"Well," Alfred said, "I say we go check out this room."

"I wholeheartedly agree," Arthur nodded his head.

This time the ride was silent but slightly uncomfortable. Both boys knew where the night was heading but neither of them really wanted to talk about it. Alfred figured he had better man up and take the plunge; so after they had driven for a few minutes in silence he decided to break it.

"So, Artie," he began. "We're gonna spend the night together?"

"Looks that way," Arthur's eyes were trained on the window, watching the world pass by as they drove.

"Are you okay with this?" Alfred sounded small.

Turning toward his boyfriend, Arthur smiled genuinely and reached over to place his hand on Alfred's upper thigh. "I couldn't be more okay with this." The English boy's voice was so full of confidence that Alfred had to assume he was speaking the truth.

"Really?" Alfred squeaked.

"Truly," Arthur smiled gently at him. "You know how I said that I wanted our first time together to be perfect?"

"Yeah?"

"Well what could be more perfect than the night we brought down the house together? The night we were both superstars? The night we were both a team? I think that _tonight_ is the perfect night."

Alfred gulped. This was really happening. It was actually happening! He was on his way to a hotel room with his boyfriend. Alfred's heart started to beat harder and he could feel his pulse in his throat. "So," he managed. "This is really happening?" He voiced his thoughts aloud.

"Only if you want it to, love," Arthur squeezed his thigh, sending shivers down Alfred's spine.

"Oh," Alfred took his eyes off the road for a split second. "I most definitely want it to!"

"Good," Arthur settled back in his chair, his fingers drawling little circles on Alfred's pants. The motion was enough to get the boy slightly hard, and Alfred shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he continued driving.

They reached the hotel in only a few minutes, parking and locking the car and walking into the lobby hand in hand. The man behind the desk greeted them and asked how he could be of assistance. Alfred handed him the room key and said, "My friend gave me this and said it was for room 815, I guess I'm just making sure it isn't a joke."

The night manager clicked his computer a few times and scanned the card, handing it back to Alfred with relish. "No mistake, and no joke Mr. Jones," he said smiling. "Mr. Bielschmidt has arranged for the suite to be yours this evening."

"Wow," Alfred was a little dumbfounded. He had kind of been wondering if this was some elaborate prank of Gilbert's but it seemed as though his best friend had done him a solid. This was the real deal.

"You can take the elevators up to your floor," the night manager pointed behind them to a glass enclosure.

"Um," Alfred stuttered. "Thanks."

"Not a problem Mr. Jones," the night manager said. "You and Mr. Kirkland have an excellent night."

"Oh we will," Alfred grinned finally and Arthur blushed fiercely at the words.

They took the elevator up to the eighth floor and made their way to room 815. Alfred took the little key out of his back pocket and slid it into the card reader. The light on the door blinked a happy shade of green and beeped merrily. Turning the handle, Alfred swung the door open and stepped into the room. Arthur followed closely behind, his hand gripping Alfred's tightly.

It was a small suite, with a king bed and a jetted tub in the bathroom, but the view that overlooked their little city was phenomenal. The night sky was littered with stars and they could see for miles out of the window. Both boys took in their surroundings with awe.

"Man," Alfred broke the silence. "Gilbert rocks!"

"He certainly does," Arthur agreed. He was really going to have to rethink his initial opinion of the albino boy. Trying to bribe him with cash and then punching him in the face had originally soured Arthur to the German teen, but after the double date where Gilbert paid and tonight, Arthur was going to have to find a new opinion of Gilbert. He certainly knew how to do things with style.

"Do you think he and Mattie are staying in a room as nice as this?" Alfred asked peering out the window.

"I'm sure their room is more luxurious," Arthur said. "After all, this is Gilbert's family's hotel."

"Yeah," Alfred said, turning away from the window and taking in the view of the room. Specifically, the view that was Arthur. Blushing under such scrutiny, Arthur found himself backing up a little bit as Alfred moved toward him.

"Um," Arthur gulped as Alfred closed in on him. "What's that on the bed?" Arthur pointed trying to draw the determined boy's intense attention away from him for a moment so he could gather himself. Alfred turned and looked, momentarily distracted. Arthur breathed harshly.

On the bed sat a small wrapped box. Alfred went towards it and began to finger the paper. Grinning at Arthur, he ripped open the package to reveal a bottle of lube and a box of condoms.

It seemed as though Gilbert had one more surprise in store for the couple.

* * *

The boys stood nervously in their room, both looking down at their feet and blushing slightly. Alfred reached over to the light switch and turned it off. The only light in the room was a small lamp on the desk and the moonlight coming in through the curtains.

"I think this is better for the mood," Alfred said referencing the lighting.

"Quite," Arthur breathed out heavily. "It's…very romantic."

"Too bad Gilbert didn't leave us any candles," Alfred said wistfully.

Arthur smiled, "We probably would have knocked them over and started a fire."

"Yeah," Alfred chuckled. "Most likely."

Both boys were quiet for a moment as they looked anywhere in the room but at each other. The silence was thick and awkward and neither boy knew how to end it. Tentatively reaching his hand toward Arthur, Alfred cupped the smaller teen's cheek and lifted Arthur's head. The Englishman's eyes remained downcast as Alfred tried to initiate eye contact.

After a moment, Arthur looked up through his lashes, biting his lower lip. It was the cutest face that Alfred had ever seen. His breath caught and he leaned in to press his lips softly against Arthur's. Their kiss was slow and sensual, speaking volumes of emotion. Alfred brushed his tongue against Arthur's lips asking for entrance and Arthur immediately responded, opening his mouth ever so slightly and allowing Alfred's tongue to brush his own. Alfred's chest was heaving as their teeth clicked together in a show of impatience.

"Slow down love," Arthur chided. "We have all night."

That they did. All night to touch and caress and shower loving kisses upon one another. Alfred wanted to make sure that everything was perfect and if that meant slowing down for Arthur then that's exactly what he was going to do. Pulling back slightly, Alfred cupped Arthur's face in his hands and looked deep into the English boy's eyes.

"I love you Arthur," he said softly.

"And I love you," Arthur responded, blinking. Alfred was almost sure he saw the beginnings of tears glistening in Arthur's ethereal green eyes.

"What's wrong babe," he asked shyly. "Are you okay?"

"I'm just so happy," Arthur admitted, looking at his lap. "I never thought that I'd find myself in a place like this, with someone like you."

"I'm just glad we're together," Alfred said earnestly.

"If someone had told me a month ago that I would be in a hotel room, about to have sex with Alfred Jones I would have laughed myself silly." Arthur stated. "I couldn't stand you when you joined the musical, but I was still head over heels in love with you despite it all."

"You couldn't stand me?" Alfred grinned. "Come on, it wasn't that bad."

"You don't remember how rough things were when this whole mess started?" Arthur asked incredulously.

"You were just a little territorial babe," Alfred was always quick to forgive. "If things hadn't went the way they did, we never would have got together you know."

"I guess you're right," Arthur said, glancing up into Alfred's blue eyes. "We both had some growing up to do."

"You more than me," Alfred teased.

Arthur swatted at Alfred's bicep, but his hand was caught in the American's strong grip. "Now get over here and kiss me," Alfred grinned.

Smiling back at his boyfriend, Arthur obliged. Letting his lips slide over Alfred's, Arthur took the initiative and deepened the kiss, exploring his boyfriend's mouth thoroughly. Their mouths met in a sweet embrace and Alfred slid his arms around Arthur's waist. He pulled the Englishman closer until their chests brushed lightly. They continued to kiss for what felt like hours, simply holding one another tightly, their hands roaming to caress each other's bodies.

"Too many clothes," Arthur whispered huskily as he pulled back from the kiss.

"What?" Alfred's eyeglasses were perched crooked on his face and he stared dumbly at Arthur.

"We're wearing too many clothes," Arthur repeated. "Take your shirt off," he reached over and began to tug at the hem of Alfred's t-shirt.

Alfred grinned. If his precious Arthur wanted him topless, then topless he would be. They moved as one, pulling Alfred's shirt over his head in a frenzied motion. Tossing the shirt on the floor, Alfred leaned in and placed his hand on Arthur's chest.

"Now to get rid of this old man sweater," he smirked.

Arthur blushed lightly as Alfred pulled off his sweater vest and undershirt, placing them delicately on the floor next to his own discarded t-shirt. They were both bare from the waist up and neither could tear their eyes away from the other's chest. Arthur was the first to react, reaching a hand out and placing it gently on Alfred's bulging pectoral muscles. Alfred's skin was smooth and warm to the touch. Slowly moving his hand across the broad expanse of chest before him, Arthur could feel his pulse quickening. Alfred was gorgeous. And he was all his.

For his part, Alfred was equally entranced by the shimmering pale skin of Arthur. He reached his own hand out to touch his boyfriend's shoulder, running his fingers down along Arthur's arm lightly; his fingernails leaving small trails in the English boy's delicate flesh.

Suddenly, and without warning, Arthur leapt and launched himself into Alfred's arms, pulling the taller boy toward him in a bruising kiss. Their mouths met as they continued their exploration of one another's bodies. Soon they found themselves tumbling back on the bed, their legs intertwined as they began to rut against one another. Arthur arched up into Alfred's touch as his back hit the soft comforter. Alfred moved his hands down to rest on either side of Arthur's hips as he pressed his mouth further against the smaller teen. Breaking the kiss, Alfred leaned over and placed his lips on Arthur's neck where he began to lick and suck the sensitive skin of the Englishman.

Arthur moaned as Alfred created what was sure to be an impressive hickey. Wriggling underneath his boyfriend, Arthur ground his hips upwards until they were met with the delicious friction of Alfred's groin. They were both becoming hard as they continued their mutual assault on one another.

Stilling, Alfred pulled away from the kiss breathing heavily and gazed into Arthur's eyes. "I've gotta slow down," he admitted.

"I know," Arthur agreed. Things were moving so fast and neither boy wanted the night to end so quickly.

"Can I ask you something Artie," Alfred spoke softly as he pressed a light kiss to Arthur's cheek.

"Anything you want love," Arthur breathed as he leaned in to the kiss.

"Can I," Alfred stammered. "Can I pay you back for the shower?"

Arthur's eyes widened. "Alfred, are you sure?"

"Yes," the American boy spoke confidently. "I want to."

Arthur's eyelids drooped slightly with lust. "Well, if you insist." He blushed.

Alfred's eyes lit up and he placed his hands on the button of Arthur's pants. Slowly undoing the button, Alfred kept his eyes on Arthur's face as he carefully removed the other boy's khakis. Arthur lifted his hips to help with the process and was grateful that he had thought to wear his good boxer briefs that morning. The grey ones that made his ass look amazing.

"Your pants off too love," Arthur insisted playfully.

Alfred heaved himself up and stood at the end of the bed, his eyes downcast as he began to unzip his jeans. Arthur reclined on the bed and watched his boyfriend's every move. Alfred glanced up and saw Arthur's eyes on him and shimmied his hips, shaking his pants down his legs. Arthur laughed out loud at the impromptu dance. Stepping out of his now discarded pants, Alfred bent down and crawled across the bed to meet Arthur's lips with his own. They kissed deeply for a few moments as Alfred's hands wandered down to the elastic band of Arthur's underpants.

Slipping his fingers into Arthur's boxer briefs, Alfred gently stroked the other boy's cock, coaxing it out as his moved the underwear down Arthur's hips. Once Arthur was free, his boxer briefs riding low on his backside, he groaned as Alfred gave an experimental tug on his member. The sheer sensation of another person touching him was blissful. Backing up on the bed to fully remove the last vestiges of Arthur's clothing, Alfred took the time to place a soft kiss to Arthur's instep as his pulled off the smaller boy's underwear. Arthur giggled into his shoulder, as the kiss tickled slightly.

Tugging on Arthur's hips, Alfred coaxed the other teen into a sitting position at the end of the bed and knelt reverently between Arthur's spread legs. Resting his hands on either side of Arthur's thighs, Alfred placed delicate kisses to the boy's jutting hipbones, drawing soft moans from the British teen. It wasn't long before Alfred could no longer ignore the hard, bobbing cock that was directly in front of his face and he leaned in, pressing his lips to Arthur's tip. Arthur practically choked at the contact.

"Alfred," Arthur managed.

His breaths were coming quick and uneven as Alfred experimentally began to lick up and down his needy cock. Running his tongue along the underside of Arthur's prick, Alfred moaned out loud at the sensation. His boyfriend tasted amazing. The thick, sweet flesh in his mouth was unbearable and Alfred hastily engulfed the smaller teen's member with his lusty mouth.

Arthur didn't know how long Alfred knelt between his legs, his head bobbing up and down as he seemed to taste every inch of the English boy's prick. All he knew was that he had never felt anything so amazing in his entire life. The sensation of his cock being covered in Alfred's hot, warm mouth was mesmerizing.

"Alfred," Arthur breathed out. "I'm going to come."

Letting Arthur's cock fall out of his mouth with a pop, Alfred grinned up at the smaller teen. "Not so fast Artie," Alfred smiled cheekily. "I'm nowhere near done with you yet."

Obliging the moaning boy with one more lick, Alfred popped up from between Arthur's legs and pressed the English boy down until he was resting on his back, his legs splayed out off the end of the bed. Crawling over the prone body beneath him, Alfred captured Arthur's mouth in a rough kiss.

"You taste good babe," he murmured. Arthur simply groaned and shifted his hips, hoping for more friction.

While he had been lavishing attention on Arthur's groin, Alfred's own underwear had become unbearably tight, so he reached down and pulled his boxers off in one quick movement. Now they were both naked and aroused and alone together. Neither boy could think of a better end to the night. Unable to tear his eyes away from a fully engorged Alfred, Arthur sucked in a breath and felt his eyelids flutter with emotion. He had never before seen such a perfect cock. Leaning toward Alfred, Arthur bent his head as though to take the other boy into his own mouth, but he was gently shoved back onto the bed.

"Now, now, Arthur," Alfred said. "I wanted to thank you for what you did in the shower, you don't have to repay me tonight."

"But I want to," Arthur pouted cutely.

"Some other time," Alfred said. "For the rest of the night, I just want you."

"Do you now?" Arthur replied cheekily.

"Yeah," Alfred's voice was thick. "I want you moaning and coming underneath me. Preferably more than once."

"That sounds heavenly." Arthur moved his hips as Alfred crawled back over him, lining their bodies up perfectly. Arthur felt himself coming undone as Alfred began to lavish his throat with open mouth kisses.

There were no words, no thoughts, only each other and the feeling of two warm bodies pressed together. Arthur's mind was a complete blank as he allowed Alfred access to his neck, mewling at the rough touch of the other teen's lips. For once in his life, the British teen was living in the moment, no thoughts as to the future or anything at all except Alfred. Sweet, wonderful Alfred and the way that he was making him feel.

"I want you Artie," Alfred's voice was deep, echoing in the smaller teen's ear.

"I need you Jones," Arthur moaned.

Bucking his hips slightly, Alfred glanced at Arthur's flushed face, mesmerized by the look of ecstasy on his boyfriend's features. "Should I just," Alfred ground his groin against Arthur's, "Put it in?"

"What? No!" Arthur pushed backwards slightly.

Alfred looked heartbroken. "You don't wanna anymore?" he asked, his voice going soft with hurt.

"No," Arthur said. "Not that, you dolt. I want to. God, do I want to. You just have to prepare me first."

"Prepare you?" Alfred's face took on the look of one who was completely lost.

"Yes, you git," Arthur leaned up on his elbows. "You have to stretch me otherwise I won't be able to take you. Don't you watch porn?"

"Of course I watch porn but I skip to the good parts." Alfred took a deep breath and looked deep into Arthur's eyes. "Will you show me how?" Alfred asked quietly.

Softly smiling, Arthur responded. "Of course love."

Arthur reached for the lubrication on the bedside table where Alfred had placed it earlier and popped open the cap. "Come here," he held his hand out toward the American boy. Taking Alfred's hands in his own, Arthur squirted some of the lube generously onto Alfred's fingers. "Start with one and work your way up," Arthur instructed. "Be gentle though, please."

"I will," Alfred pursed his lips with a look of determination on his face.

Laying back against the pillows, Arthur spread his legs wide to give his boyfriend access. When Alfred simply stared at the sight in front of him, Arthur huffed and reached down to spread his ass cheeks, leaving no doubt what he wanted from the American teenager. "Go on Alfred," Arthur urged.

Hesitantly reaching his hand out towards his boyfriend, Alfred placed a single finger against the Brit's pink, puckering asshole and circled it a few times. Slowly he began to breach the smaller blonde, pressing one digit into him with incredible slowness. Arthur moaned as he was entered and his hips unconsciously pressed down farther on Alfred's finger.

Alfred's breaths began to come in short gasps as he felt the hot tightness of his boyfriend's passage. He had never done anything like this before and he couldn't remember ever being this turned on. He moved agonizingly slowly, careful not to hurt Arthur. The British teen was writhing on the bed beneath him and Alfred was tempted to go faster but he had promised to be gentle.

After a few moments, he placed another lube slicked finger at Arthur's entrance and pressed it in to join the first. Arthur wiggled and squinted his eyes. "More Alfred," the Englishman groaned. Alfred obliged, spreading the two fingers apart and pushing them further into the Brit's body.

By the time he placed the third finger at Arthur's hole, the English teen was practically sobbing with the sensation of having something inside of him. "Does it hurt Artie?" Alfred looked nervous. He couldn't tell if his boyfriend was in pain or feeling ecstasy.

"It's amazing Alfred," Arthur promised, pushing himself down harder onto Alfred's fingers.

Alfred watched, entranced as his fingers moved in and out of his boyfriend's body. He was captivated by the sight. Every time he pulled his fingers even a little bit out, the Brit's body seemed to suck them back in with want. Curling one finger inside of Arthur, Alfred was surprised when his boyfriend let out a yelp and seemed to leap off of the bed.

"What was that?" Alfred was worried.

"Do that again!" Arthur commanded.

"What? What did I do?" Alfred was concerned that he had hurt his slight boyfriend.

"Touch me there again Alfred, oh God!" Arthur moaned as he thrashed from side to side on the bed.

Once more, Alfred curled his finger into the same spot and Arthur jolted as though hit by lightning. Moaning out Alfred's name, Arthur let his head fall back loosely against the pillow and rocked his ass against Alfred's hand. His boyfriend seemed to be enjoying it, so Alfred tried the same maneuver one more time with great results.

Sliding his fingers out of Arthur, Alfred leaned back on his heels and gazed at the smaller teenager. "How did that feel Artie?" he asked, grinning.

"Amazing! Absolutely bloody amazing," Arthur's accent thickened.

"Are you ready for me?" Alfred asked shyly.

Nodding, Arthur looked directly into Alfred's bright blue eyes. "Take me, love."

Alfred fumbled a bit with the condom that he retrieved from the bedside table and taking pity on his boyfriend, Arthur reached out a hand to steady Alfred's trembling ones. They ripped the package open together and Arthur removed the condom. Placing it on his boyfriend's dick, Arthur made eye contact the entire time that he rolled the condom onto Alfred's large, strong prick. Alfred shuddered at the contact.

Leaning back against the pillows, Arthur spread his legs once more, and allowed Alfred to shift into position between them. They were laying chest to chest, their breathing uneven and erratic.

"Go on Alfred," Arthur nodded. "I want you…now."

Alfred didn't waste any time. Lining his prick up with the slightly gaping asshole of the Brit, Alfred pressed the head against Arthur's hole.

"Are you sure Artie?" He asked. "No going back."

"Make me yours," Arthur replied, somewhat impatiently.

Alfred slowly pressed in. As soon as the head of his dick was engulfed, he had to fight the urge to simply push himself fully into the willing body beneath him. He didn't want to hurt his Arthur after all. So, mustering all of his self-control, the American teen slowly slid into his boyfriend's tight heat.

Once fully sheathed, Alfred tried to catch his breath and rested his head on Arthur's shoulder. Arthur's arms were encircling the taller teen, running his hands up and down Alfred's strong back soothingly. For a moment, Alfred wanted to stay like that forever.

"Holy fuck Artie," Alfred breathed. "You're so tight!"

Arthur only grunted in response, his body still becoming used to the feeling of being stretched so thoroughly. The feeling in his ass was heavy and uncomfortable, but at the same time it was amazingly erotic and pleasurable. He felt as though he may be split in two. Arthur tentatively squeezed his muscles together to test the feeling in his rear, and the result was Alfred crying out.

"Jeez Artie," he moaned. "Don't do that again, or I'm gonna come!"

"Sorry love," Arthur grit his teeth.

Laying atop his lover, Alfred was beginning to feel the need to move. He needed the heat and friction of Arthur's body like he needed air. "Artie," he gasped. "Artie I need—"

"I know love," Arthur breathed. "Just…go slowly at first."

Alfred needed no encouragement. He pulled his hips back and felt his length begin to slide out of Arthur. The Brit moaned at the loss. Pressing in once again, Alfred began a series of long, slow strokes, his eyes clenched tightly as he tried to conjure images of car wrecks and clowns and Coach Romano dancing naked in order to quell the lust that was building in his gut.

Arthur shifted his hips slightly and Alfred slid in even deeper, brushing against that perfect spot in the Brit's body once more. Arthur's mouth gaped open and he let out a deep moan against Alfred's ear. The feeling in his ass wasn't bad at all any longer; it was perfect and he needed more of it. Pushing himself down, matching Alfred's slow thrusts, the two boys worked in a rhythm that soon picked up speed.

Without much warning, Alfred was slapping his hips against Arthur's with a fierceness that neither boy was prepared for. His thrusts became harder and rougher the longer he went, causing Arthur to grind himself down upon Alfred's cock and moan for more. Pulling back slightly, Alfred locked eyes with Arthur as he continued to pound relentlessly into the smaller teen.

Stilling for a moment, Alfred allowed a beat to pass without moving an inch and Arthur keened at the loss of friction. "You want it bad, babe," Alfred smirked.

"Belt up," Arthur stammered, his passage twitching with anticipation as Alfred hovered over him maddeningly.

Alfred pressed himself into Arthur deep, "Just wanted to make sure you were…enjoying yourself babe."

"Less talking," Arthur managed. "More bloody fucking."

"You've got a dirty mouth," Alfred admonished with a grin on his face.

"And you're an insufferable git," Arthur wriggled his hips, trying to push Alfred in deeper. "Move!"

Alfred began his relentless thrusts once more, pounding into the Brit with everything he had. He was no longer concerned with going slow, he now just need the friction and heat and everything that came with being completely surrounded by Arthur.

His thrusts were matched perfectly by Arthur's shifting hips as the Englishman ground himself against Alfred with every movement. Alfred began to feel heat pooling in his stomach and he knew that he wouldn't last much longer. He only hoped that Arthur was as close as he was. The American teen didn't have anything to worry about. The press of Alfred's cock against his prostate with every hit was causing Arthur to lose it. He was beginning to see stars with every powerful thrust.

Suddenly realizing that he had been neglecting Arthur's cock this entire time, Alfred reached down between them and wrapped his hand around Arthur's length causing the English boy to shudder. A few harsh strokes and Arthur was spilling himself between them, coating their stomachs with his seed. Immediately after his release, the English teen went boneless and relaxed into the soft pillows of the bed, his arms lightly stroking Alfred's back as the American boy continued to pound deeply into him. A few sharp thrusts later and Alfred came with a shout, pressing himself deep into Arthur's body as he shuddered to a finish.

"Holy fuck," Alfred breathed as he collapsed on top of Arthur. For his part, the English teen was practically sobbing with relief as he came down from his own high.

They lay together, entwined and sated for a few moments until Arthur muttered, "Heavy," and pushed at Alfred's shoulder.

Pushing himself up, Alfred felt himself slide out of his boyfriend and both boys moaned at the loss. Flopping over onto his side, Alfred pulled off the condom and tied it up, tossing it on the floor of the hotel room as he leaned in and embraced Arthur. Nuzzling the shorter teen's cheek, Alfred curled his body against his boyfriend, both of them completely satisfied and happy.

After a few moments of cuddling, Arthur stirred. "We have to clean up," he said, his voice tinged with disappointment.

"Later," Alfred cuddled closer to the smaller teen.

"No," Arthur insisted. "Now. I'm all sticky."

Groaning, Alfred rolled onto his back, spread eagled on the bed. "Fine. Good thing they thought to put a tub in, huh?"

Arthur grinned wildly at his boyfriend's insinuation. "Are you saying you want to take a bath with me love?"

Propping himself up on his elbow and gazing deeply into Arthur's eyes, Alfred said, "I will gladly do _anything_ with you."

"Well then, let's go," Arthur rolled over in an attempt to stand. As soon as his backside hit the bed though, he flinched in pain.

"Are you okay?" Alfred was immediately at his side, a hand on Arthur's shoulder.

"I'm fine," Arthur reassured. "Just a little sore."

"Well," Alfred grinned. "Let me help you with that." Standing up, Alfred moved to Arthur's side of the bed and deftly scooped the smaller teen up into his arms. "Allow me," he said charmingly.

Arthur wiggled and protested at being carried, but allowed Alfred to tote him into the bathroom and set him down in front of the tub.

"You're ridiculous," Arthur shook his head.

"You love it," Alfred shot back.

Arthur didn't reply. He had nothing to say to that. He _did_ love it. Turning on the faucet, Arthur ran his hand under the water of the tap until it ran warm. Noticing a small bottle of bubble bath on the counter, he added the entire bottle to the mixture of hot water and let the tub fill; all the while dodging kisses from Alfred who couldn't seem to keep his hands to himself. Once the tub was full, Alfred held out a hand for Arthur to take and helped him into the deep Jacuzzi.

Arthur settled himself in the hot water, the warmth doing wonders for his aching ass. Looking up, he stared openly at the naked Alfred who hovered on the outside of the tub. "Are you going to join me or what?"

Alfred immediately hopped into the tub with a splash, sending water careening over the edge onto the floor. Sinking down into the warmth, Alfred positioned himself directly behind Arthur and spread his legs wide, wrapping them around the British teen. Coaxing Arthur between his legs, Alfred enveloped the smaller boy in a tight hug as the water sloshed around them.

"Artie," he said.

"What?"

"I love you," Alfred pressed a kiss to the back of Arthur's head.

"I know," Arthur leaned into the kiss. "I love you too."

"More than anything?" Alfred asked cutely.

"More than tea," Arthur stated firmly.

Alfred's eyes widened behind his glasses, which were rapidly fogging up. "More than tea! That means you'll love me forever and ever and ever and—"

"Yes, yes," Arthur snapped.

They descended into silence for a few moments as Alfred lavished kisses on Arthur's neck and shoulders. Arthur settled comfortably with his back pressed to Alfred's chest, relishing in the attention he was receiving. Grabbing a washcloth from the shelf next to the tub, Alfred dipped it in the water, wringing it out and placing it on Arthur's back.

Arthur moaned at the contact.

Rubbing the rag up and down Arthur's back and arms sensually, Alfred began to whisper sweet nothings into his boyfriend's ear. Arthur leaned back into the fantastic touches and began to feel himself stir once again below the water. Such was the life of a seventeen year old. He was ready to go again, even though he didn't think he actually could bear another round. His ass still felt tender.

As the bubbles dispersed, Alfred began to notice his boyfriend's growing hardness. Chuckling to himself, Alfred bit down on Arthur's neck and began to suck, leaving a bright hickey against the pristine skin of the English boy. Subtly sliding his hand around to Arthur's front, Alfred gently wrapped his hand around Arthur's hardening prick.

"Ah," Arthur gasped. "Alfred love," Arthur shifted his hips into Alfred's grip. "I can't," he moaned. "I can't go again."

"I know babe," Alfred continued to softly stroke his lover. "But I can still help you out."

Continuing to stroke and pull at Arthur's hard dick, Alfred placed small kisses along the Brit's neck, causing the smaller blonde to moan and twitch in his grasp. The feeling of neediness was rising in Arthur and he began to shift his hips in time with Alfred's hand. Arching his back into Alfred's chest, Arthur let out an animalistic growl. With a few more strokes, he came, his seed spilling out into the foamy water and his cock going limp in Alfred's grip.

"Feel better?" Alfred asked cheekily.

"More than you'll ever know." Arthur sighed.

Alfred leaned in to peck the Brit's cheek and removed his hand from Arthur's member. Arthur groaned at the loss, but shifted comfortably until he was resting against Alfred's chest once more.

"Are you clean yet?" Alfred asked.

"Just about," Arthur turned his head, craning to see Alfred's face. "Thank you." The normally gruff Englishman spoke softly.

"For what?" Alfred asked, his voice deep.

"For tonight," Arthur blushed. "For being with me. Wanting me. For everything."

"You don't have to thank me babe," Alfred insisted. "I should be thanking you. I'm not a virgin anymore."

"No," Arthur sighed. "No you are not." Smiling softly, Arthur wiggled against Alfred causing the water to ripple. "So, are you glad you're not a virgin any longer?"

"You bet!" Alfred chirped. "That was amazing! It was the best thing I've ever felt. I can't even describe it."

"Try," Arthur coaxed.

"It was so intense. Like shooting a three-pointer right before the buzzer. Or flying a jet plane. Or walking on the moon. Or—"

"I understand love," Arthur smiled.

"Come on," Alfred shifted in the tub, attempting to stand. "We're clean now. Let's go to bed."

"Together?"

"Always."

The boys exited the tub, and dried off with fluffy white towels provided by the hotel. Once they were clean and dry, they made their way to the bedroom, falling onto the disheveled bed and snuggling close under the covers. Alfred wrapped his arms around Arthur tightly. Arthur leaned into the embrace and shifted up to place a soft kiss on Alfred's lips.

"I couldn't be happier," Arthur said quietly. Alfred blinked for a moment and then dipped his head shyly. "What?" Arthur asked. "What is it?"

A bit desperately, Alfred clung tighter to Arthur and whispered, "How was it?"

"It was incredible," Arthur replied.

"Yeah, but," Alfred stammered uncharacteristically. "Was it good? Was it better than…before?"

"You mean, are you the best I've ever had?" Arthur raised a large eyebrow.

"Well," Alfred said looking directly into Arthur's green eyes. "Yeah."

"Love," Arthur placed a hand on Alfred's cheek, caressing softly. "You are by far the best I've ever had."

"Really?"

"Truly." Arthur promised. "Nothing can compare to what we just shared."

"Good," Alfred breathed out a huge breath that he didn't even realized he had been holding in. "I just want to be with you," Alfred said. "Always."

"And I want to be with you as well love," Arthur reciprocated. "Always."

Alfred sucked in a breath, "Do you think we'll be together forever?"

Arthur furrowed his brow at the question. "I hope so," he responded. "I want you in my life Jones."

"And I wanna be with you too," Alfred leaned in and pushed his mouth gently against the English teen. Their lips met softly as they moved smoothly against one another.

Breaking for air, Arthur pulled back, his eyes beginning to droop with sleep. "I love you Jones. And I want you to be mine."

"I'll always be yours Arthur," Alfred caressed his lover's cheek. "As long as you'll have me."

"Love," Arthur replied. "I plan on having you forever."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry.


	17. Being Alive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it. The end, the finale, it's over.

**Chapter Seventeen: Being Alive (aka 'Finale')**

_"The further you get away from yourself, the more challenging it is. Not to be in your comfort zone is great fun." –Benedict Cumberbatch_

Every show has a finale and every stage of life does as well. The boys were rapidly coming up on the finale of their senior year of high school. Graduation was in less than a month. They were swamped with last minute homework, graduation parties and final farewells. Although, they saw no farewell in their future due to the fact that they were planning on spending just about every day of summer break together.

Arthur was busy preparing for his audition for the school of drama at World University and was a complete mess about the whole thing. He had been a wreck for over a week. His only solace was calming kisses from Alfred at the opportune moment.

"Calm down, babe," Alfred urged as they stood outside the imposing theatrical building of the college. "You're gonna do great! I just know it. No way can they turn you down."

"You don't understand Alfred," Arthur rolled his eyes. He was irritable and quite grumpy from so much stress. "It doesn't matter that I've practically starred in all the shows at the academy. If I go in there and mess up then that's that. There are no do overs."

Alfred fidgeted with his shirt, "I know you," he said confidently. "I know you, and you're going to be amazing."

"God, I hope so," Arthur let out a shaky breath. "I've been working my whole life for this moment and I better not fuck it up."

"You'll be fine," Alfred slid his arms around the smaller teen's waist and leaned down for a kiss. Their lips met in a small press of love. It was simple and wholesome and perfect. Arthur melted into the touch, his worries slowly slipping away. "Now," Alfred pulled away. "Go in there and kick some theatrical ass."

"You're absolutely ridiculous love," Arthur chuckled.

He turned and picked up his bag, beginning to make his way into the theatre. Alfred would wait for him outside with the other hopeful's families. "Wish me luck, love," Arthur called over his shoulder.

"Break a leg babe!" Alfred grinned.

* * *

In the weeks that followed Arthur's audition, he was moody and irritable, convinced that he had completely ruined his performance. Nothing would sway him from his negative thoughts. It was as though the grumpy English boy was in a permanent dark place. Even Alfred's infectious joy could rarely cause the smaller teen to smile.

"Artie," Alfred cajoled. "Smile for me."

"Don't be daft, I have no reason to smile right now," came the snippy reply.

"Yes you do," Alfred poked at Arthur's cheek. "I'm here and I'm ready to ravish you."

A smile slipped past the Englishman's defenses as he allowed Alfred to move closer. "Ravish me?" Arthur asked, raising an eyebrow deftly.

"Mmhmm," Alfred nodded cutely. He moved closer to Arthur, causing the comforter of the English boy's bed to become wrinkled. "Come on Artie, you know you want me."

"I always want you dearest," Arthur replied, leaning in for a kiss.

They met in heat and passion, both moving against one another's lips clumsily. Falling back on the bed, Alfred moved himself above Arthur and placed his hand on the smaller teen's hip. Pulling back slightly, the American panted, "What time are your parents getting home?"

"Not for another hour or two," Arthur replied, gasping. He needed more friction. Alfred obliged.

Rubbing their bodies together, Alfred deepened his kisses, placing soft licks on Arthur's pale throat. The English boy moaned deliciously.

"I can't wait until we can do this whenever we want," Alfred huffed. "Without worrying about your parents or your brothers walking in on us."

"Scot will not hurt you, I promise," Arthur reached up to caress Alfred's cheek.

"I know," Alfred said. "But it doesn't hurt to be…cautious."

Arthur laughed heartily. "Scot adores you now, love."

"Yeah now," Alfred huffed. "I had to let him kick my ass at golf for him to love me."

"Really darling you weren't that much of a challenge for him."

"Way to break a guy's heart Artie."

"Just telling it like it is," Arthur laughed. Suddenly turning serious, the English boy tilted his head and looked deeply into Alfred's eyes. "Although, it seems we have a problem love."

Unconsciously thrusting his hips downward, Alfred's eye narrowed. "What do you mean, a problem?"

"This," Arthur reached down and cupped Alfred through his pants. "No one is home and for some reason, you aren't fucking me."

"That is a problem," Alfred agreed.

Pants and shirts were quickly shed and naked, sweat slicked bodies met in a frenzied passion as the boys moved together as one. Arthur felt his arousal sharpen and focus as he reached his climax, relishing in the feeling of his boyfriend completely surrounding him. He had never felt complete or whole in his entire life until this brash, infuriating, wonderful American had pushed his way in and past his defenses. Life with Alfred F. Jones was a whirlwind and Arthur was glad to hang on for the ride.

* * *

The days slipped away quicker than either boy was prepared for. Suddenly it was the week before graduation and they could scarcely believe that they had made it this far. Early in the morning they met in the parking lot and shared a few sweet kisses before the late bell rang and they had to rush off to class. Arthur agreed to meet Matthew and Gilbert and Alfred at the brother's house that afternoon to try on their cap and gowns which had finally arrived earlier that week. Matthew insisted that he needed practice walking in his so that he seemed to float; but Gilbert and Alfred just seemed to want an excuse to hang out. Arthur couldn't say that he minded very much.

When the boys arrived at Alfred's house that afternoon after school, they went straight for the kitchen because Alfred insisted that he was starving. After making some simple sandwiches, they went to eat them in the basement rec room. Gilbert and Matthew had yet to arrive so the boys figured they could eat their sandwiches and indulge in a little making out before Alfred's brother and his boyfriend graced them with their presence.

On the way down the stairs, Alfred grabbed the mail and leafed through it, pulling out two letters addressed to him. One was an advertisement for a new video game that he had been waiting for and the other was a thick white envelope that seemed official. Turning the letter over in his hands, Alfred went white when he saw the postmark. World University.

"What is it love?" Arthur asked, noticing that his boyfriend, while starving, was not eating his sandwich.

"It's from World U," Alfred said in a breathless tone as he joined Arthur on the couch.

"Well," Arthur took a big bite of his turkey and Swiss, "Open it up." All of his hard work and preparation had paid off. Arthur had received his acceptance letter to the World University Drama Department only yesterday and he was feeling rather confidant, his mood buoyed by the positive tone of the note. He was already planning his own acceptance and future college career at World U.

Alfred's hands were shaking as he toyed with the envelope. "I can't." He stated simply.

"What?"

"I can't." Alfred took a deep breath. "What if they said no?"

Sighing, Arthur took his boyfriend's trembling hand. "Look how thick that packet is," he admonished. "There's absolutely no way that they turned you down." He looked into Alfred's piercing blue eyes. "Besides, you're president of the Drama Club on top of all your sports activities. They have to say yes. Just open it."

Alfred allowed himself to get lost in Arthur's intense gaze. There was something incredibly comforting about the green-eyed boy's stare. "Go on Jones," Arthur taunted. "What are you afraid of?"

"I'm not afraid of anything!" Alfred cried with determination. Swiftly, he ripped open the paper of the envelope and pulled out its contents. Skimming over the cover letter, Alfred mumbled the words written before him.

"It is our sincere joy to welcome you to World University," Alfred read aloud, his voice dropping in amazement. There was complete silence in the rec room as Arthur listened to Alfred's quiet voice and a huge grin spread across the English boy's face.

"I did it Artie!" Alfred cried joyfully. "I got in!"

"It seems as though all your hard work has paid off, love," Arthur replied.

"They're even talking about offering me a basketball scholarship," Alfred blushed. "I couldn't have done it without you."

"Nonsense," Arthur insisted. "I believe I was holding you back for some of the time. Regardless, I am proud of you."

"Thanks Artie," Alfred grinned. He reached over an enveloped Arthur in a big bear hug. "You're the best, even if you did try to sabotage me there for a while."

"Well thankfully it didn't work," Arthur mumbled into Alfred's chest. "The show would have been rubbish without you and I have to admit that my life wasn't much without you in it either."

"Awe, Artie, you're the sweetest," Alfred teased.

"I am not!"

"Are too!"

"I'm not playing this childish game with you Alfred," Arthur pulled away from their hug.

"But you love me," Alfred said in a childish sing-song tone.

Huffing under his breath, Arthur relinquished and said, "I do love you, you dolt."

Grabbing the smaller teen in a rough embrace, Alfred squeezed his boyfriend hard and let out a very manly giggle. "This is gonna be great!" Alfred began. "We can go to school together again! But this time it will be better cause there won't be any competition. Plus, no parents! We can have sex all the time!"

"I'm going to be rather busy love," Arthur returned the hug, chuckling slightly. "You know full well that the theatre is a demanding pastime."

"You'll still make time for me," Alfred spoke confidently.

"Yes," Arthur agreed. "Yes I will."

Pushing the shorter teen onto his back, Alfred maneuvered his boyfriend underneath him and ground his hips down as he pressed a soft kiss to Arthur's lips. They met in a clash of lips and teeth as their emotions began to ride higher than either boy was prepared for. Nuzzling Arthur's cheek affectionately, Alfred showered the shorter teen with kisses and caresses, his hands roaming over the Brit's body. Arthur moaned into his mouth and met him with everything he had.

They were so intent on displaying the love they felt for each other, the rest of the world seemed to slip away. Soft lips met and joined in a sweet embrace. Hips rolled and ground together as both boys began to feel that twinge of excitement below the belt.

Leaning in to capture Arthur's mouth with his own, Alfred took his time lavishing affection on his grumpy boyfriend. It was a few minutes before they broke away, each boy in need of air and feeling lightheaded.

"We're gonna have so much fun at college," Alfred said, his grin blinding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope that you all enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. This story was pure joy for me from start to finish. It gives me great pleasure to know that there are people out there reading my silly little stories. Thank you so much.

**Author's Note:**

> AN: The title is a play on words. A company of players is a group of actors and when you're in the company of players you should be careful of your heart...
> 
> Most of the terms being used are the American ones since the school is going to be in America, I just headcanon that it is an international school where lots of foreign students go.
> 
> I also didn't want the normal pairings of friends right off the bat, which is why Arthur is with Elizabeta and Natalia (I wanted to try out Belarus for a bit).


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